


Patrick, Before The Brewers

by Aelia_Gioia



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Family, Kid Fic, M/M, Patrick is adopted, Pre-Schitt's Creek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-02-26 15:30:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 55,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23236624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aelia_Gioia/pseuds/Aelia_Gioia
Summary: Marcy and Clint Brewer are a young, childless couple. The newly minted foster parents meet a tiny three year old who changes their lives forever.His name, of course, is Patrick.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose, Patrick Brewer/Rachel
Comments: 282
Kudos: 205





	1. The Next Time We See You

**Author's Note:**

> Since Patrick will eventually meet David in this fic, I was advised to add the P/D tag.
> 
> xoxo
> 
> TW: Mention of a possible cancer diagnosis in ch 9.

Marcy’s heart was racing as they drove. She couldn’t stop fidgeting in the car; she couldn’t look out the window for too long and she couldn’t look down at her hands. It felt like they were catching every single red light along the route. She distracted herself by fiddling with the hem of her blue cardigan. She found a loose hanging thread and she pulled at it until it snapped. She wrapped it around her fingers and tied a knot. 

Clint’s hand suddenly being on her knee made her jump. 

“Relax. Marce. It’s going to be ok,” his warm smile and bright eyes somewhat eased her frazzled nerves. They'd been together for seven years, married for four, and he knew exactly how to calm her down.

“Yeah. I know,” she said, offering a weak smile. 

They pulled up to the courthouse and she swallowed the lump in her throat. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this nervous and excited. It was as if her insides were trying to claw their way out. 

They’d read his file. He was three years old. Birth parents died in a car wreck and there were no close relatives able to take him. He’d been placed in a group home since the accident and was not adjusting well. He was not reliably toilet trained. Mistrustful. Possible diagnosis of Oppositional Defiance Disorder. Night terrors. Doesn’t speak much but has a slight impediment. 

The photo in the file didn’t quite match the grimness of what was written. 

“Now or never, Beautiful.” Clint held his hand out to her and she interlaced their fingers as they walked into the building. 

They located Amanda, the caseworker who had reached out to them on the second floor. Clint waved at her and Marcy’s heart skipped a beat when she saw the petite boy in dirty sneakers sitting on the wooden bench next to her. His feet didn’t touch the floor, he was swinging his legs carelessly. 

Amanda waved back at them and stood up, holding her hand out the boy. He looked reluctant to take it but eventually did. 

Marcy fixed her gaze on him and felt her eyes stinging. She sniffled and Clint squeezed her hand. She heard Amanda’s voice but didn’t process what was being said because she was so focused on the precious child in front of her. 

He was all of two feet tall. Skinny; scrawny, really. He had messy sandy brown curls with touches of ginger. He wore light wash denim overalls with a red polo shirt. He was clinging to a dark brown teddy bear. When Amanda let go of his hand, he wrapped both arms around it. 

“Hi,” Marcy said softly. He didn’t look up, he stared at his shoes. 

Marcy knelt in front of him. “My name is Marcy,” she tried to get his eye. “Can you tell me your name?” 

“Patwick,” he said. His voice was barely above a whisper, he avoided eye contact. 

“It’s so nice to meet you, Patrick.” She held out her hand but he didn’t shake it. She looked up at Clint and he tilted his chin at her, encouraging her to keep speaking to the boy. 

“Um, I… I like your bear –“ she reached out to him and Patrick took three big steps away, twisting his body, protectively holding onto his toy. 

Marcy gasped and felt her heart crack open. She pulled both hands back, sighing sorrowfully. 

“Oh! I wasn’t going to take him from you, Sweetheart. I’m sorry. I just wanted to see how soft he is. Is he very soft?” 

Patrick nodded, giving her a distrustful side-eye. 

“Does your bear have a name?” 

He nodded again and took a careful step towards her. He held the bear out for her to see but not take. 

“Thpiderman.” 

Marcy laughed. “Spiderman?! That’s a great name! He must be very brave. Is he?” 

For the first time, Patrick made eye contact with her. His amber irises swirled with hints of green and she noticed the tiny dots of freckles across the bridge of his nose. He nodded again with the hint of a smile. 

“He use-tha have a wed wibbon awownd-is neck but it got whippt-eded off,” he pressed the bear’s ear to his cheek. 

Marcy sat back on her heels and reached around to the blue grosgrain ribbon she’d tied around her ponytail that morning. She held it out to the boy. 

“My favorite color is blue; do you think Spiderman would like a blue ribbon around his neck?” 

Patrick reached his tiny hand out and touched the ribbon. His fingertips grazed Marcy’s palm and she thought she saw him smile again. 

“Uh-huh,” he replied. 

Neither of them spoke. Patrick looked from his bear to Marcy and back again, clearly deciding if he could trust her not to take Spiderman away from him. He apparently decided she wouldn’t steal him and he let her tie a loopy bow around the bear’s neck. He smiled wide at her and hugged his toy tightly when she was done. 

“Hi, Patrick. I’m Clint.” He knelt next to his wife and offered his palm in a high five. Patrick smiled and wound up his hand to whack him as hard as he could. Clint made an exaggerated cry of pain and fell backward on the floor. 

“Boy, oh boy, you’re so STRONG!” he made a show of struggling to get back up and Patrick giggled. 

And that was the end of their first meeting. Amanda suggested that if they wanted to meet him again, they could arrange a second visit somewhere public. She’d have to be there but she could sit somewhere removed from them if they wanted to enjoy some one-on-one time with him. 

And of course they did. 

“That child is _ not _ oppositionally defiant!” Marcy said on the ride back home. As a second-grade teacher, she’d had students with that confirmed diagnosis and she could tell the difference. “He’s so sweet, Clint. He just needs to get out of the group home – he’s scared, he’s lonely, he’s…he’s…” 

“He’s ours.” 

Clint was not a demonstratively emotive man. He didn’t cry easily; he didn’t love talking about his feelings. When Marcy saw her husband’s eyes fill up with tears and his cheeks flushed, she knew he was completely serious. That was the extent of the conversation; they didn’t need to discuss whether or not they wanted to take him in. This boy needed them as much as they needed him. 

“What do we even say to Amanda?” Marcy asked. “Do we say ‘we’ll take him’? He’s a boy, not a used car! I don’t even know how to phrase it!” 

Clint smiled at her and focused on the road. They stopped off at a department store and bought some clothes, shoes, and pajamas for Patrick. Clint snuck in the Blue Jay’s cap but Marcy didn’t mind. They had to restrain themselves from filling up two carts at Toys R Us. They bought him a few things, unsure of what he even liked to play with. They decided that after a meal and a bath, their first official act as a family would be to take Patrick back to the toy store and buy him any damn thing he wanted. 

Their second meeting was at a park. The weather could not have been more perfect for a picnic and time for Patrick to play at the recently renovated playground. 

He arrived with Amanda, carrying Spiderman under his arm. Marcy smiled, seeing the blue ribbon was still tied securely around his neck. Patrick looked slightly forlorn when he got out of the car but the expression on his face when he saw them was nothing short of joyful. 

He was wearing denim shorts and a green He-Man t-shirt with the same dirty sneakers. He waved at them and his cheeks were a healthy shade of pink. 

Patrick tried running to them but Amanda made him walk safely next to her across the parking lot. 

“Hi Patrick!” Marcy said cheerfully when they got close enough. 

“Patrick, you remember Clint and Marcy?” Amanda asked him. He nodded and giggled, looking so excited to see them again. 

“Ok, I’m going to be right over there if you need me, ok?” 

“Yep!” Patrick easily stepped away from Amanda and poked Clint's thigh with another giggle. 

“Yikes! Aah!” He stumbled backward and Patrick cackled. “Marcy, did you see that?! I’m telling you - he’s SO STRONG!” 

Clint didn’t hesitate before lurching forward and scooping Patrick up in his arms, easily slipping him over his shoulder. Patrick squealed with delight and Marcy clapped her hands. 

“He’s the _ strongest boy in the world _!” Clint held Patrick under his arms above his head and the three of them had a good laugh. His t-shirt had ridden up and Marcy couldn’t resist lightly scraping her fingernails on his porcelain skin. Patrick laughed and kicked his legs in response to being tickled. 

Clint balanced the boy on his hip and carried him to the picnic table where they’d set up a lunch area. Patrick sat next to Marcy and gradually moved in so close to her that she had to put her arm around him to not have her elbow pinned to her side. 

He ate everything she put in front of him and Clint made a joke about Patrick having a ‘hollow leg’. He giggled and took a third chicken drumstick off the serving plate. He wiggled and danced in his seat, looking around the park and humming happily to himself. 

Clint took a forkful of potato salad and winked at his wife. They were clearly both equally smitten with Patrick and finally, the second bedroom in their house would have a resident. Their house would come alive. 

“Do you want to go play in the playground, Patrick?” Marcy asked after they finished cleaning up their lunch. 

He shrugged and held Spiderman in his lap. 

“I could push you on the swing, if you want,” Clint offered. “That slide looks _ really _ fun, too.” 

Patrick knit his barely-there eyebrows together and considered his options. He looked down and saw a book in Marcy’s tote bag. 

“Wassat? He asked, pointing. 

Marcy looked and realized she hadn’t fully unpacked the canvas bag she used to lug things back and forth to work. 

“Oh, that’s called _ The Hobbit _,” she told him. “I read it to my kids.” 

Patrick looked suddenly crestfallen. “You gots other kids?” 

Marcy cupped his cheek and stroked her thumb on his cheek. “No, Sweet Boy. I’m a teacher. I read it to my students at school.” 

He looked relieved. “You-kuh read it tah me?” 

“Oh great,” Clint said teasingly. “_ Two _ bookworms.” 

Marcy playfully swatted at her husband and stood up, offering her hand to Patrick. His hand was so small in hers but his skin was warmed by the sun. She led him over to a tree that offered a lot of shade and he crawled into her lap before she started to read. He wrapped Spiderman in his arms and leaned his head against her chest, listening to her heart. 

“In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbit-hole and that means comfort...” 

Clint removed his camera from its case and put the strap over his head. He looked through it and focused the lens on his wife and Patrick. These would be the first photographs of his son and his favorite still hangs on the wall in his office to this day. 

When Marcy realized that Patrick had fallen asleep on her she put the book down and put an arm over him. She hummed “You Are My Sunshine” and gently rocked him. She touched her nose to the top of his head and inhaled the scent of him down to her toes, letting it imprint in her memory. She carefully unfurled his sleeping fist and examined his tiny fingernails. She found a tiny heart-shaped birthmark on the side of his hand near his left pinky finger. 

Someone else gave birth to this boy, but he was destined to be her son. 

The allotted time for their visit came to an end and Amanda approached with a knowing smile on her face. Patrick was awake, sitting in Marcy’s lap, making silly faces and playing a hand-slapping game with Clint. He let his small hands hover over Clint’s large ones and when it looked like Clint was going to whip his hands up to tap them, he pulled them away with a zealous squeak and gut-busting laugh. 

“I’m so sorry to break this up but we have to go now,” Amanda adjusted her purse on her shoulder. 

“Oh, I thought we could just…take him home with us,” Clint said; he didn’t want to let Patrick out of his sight – didn’t want his son spending another unnecessary minute in the group home. He’d been through enough already. Clint had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that something was going to happen to Patrick if they didn’t take him home right then. 

“Yes! Everything at our house is ready. We have the booster seat in the car, you can go check!” Marcy said, twirling one of Patrick’s curls around her fingers. 

“I’m sorry. We can absolutely start the process but you have to wait 24 hours.” 

“We don’t want to wait! We…” Clint looked between Patrick and Amanda. 

“I’m sorry – that’s the policy. In 24 hours, I’ll call you. If you still want to take custody and start the foster-adopt process –“ 

“Can’t we skip the fostering part and go right to adoption?” Clint was used to taking charge of situations and didn’t often accept what he deemed unnecessary road blocks or red tape. 

“You can expedite, of course. That’s the goal. But this step comes first,” Amanda put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s just 24 hours. After that, he’s all yours.” She offered a bit of reassurance but for them, 24 hours would feel like decades. 

“He is ours already,” Marcy said, squeezing Patrick around the waist and kissing his cheek. 

“Yes, I can see that,” Amanda smiled warmly. 

“Ok. Um, Patrick?” Clint padded the boy’s shin and he looked up. 

“Hm?” he lifted his eyes to Clint’s. 

“Would you like to come live with us?” Clint asked. 

“Yeah! Uh-huh!” He nodded his head. 

“Settled then,” Marcy kissed his cheek and tickled his side. 

“Thpiderman, too?” Patrick asked. 

“Of _ course _ Spiderman, too!” Clint laughed and ruffled the boys’ curls. 

He carried Patrick to Amanda’s car and the steady thump-thump-thump of his heartbeat against Clint’s chest was both calming and maddening – he just wanted to take his son home. 

“We’ll see you again soon, Patrick, ok?” Marcy said once his feet were on the ground again. Patrick didn’t seem to understand. 

“Next time we see you, we’ll show you your new room,” Clint knelt down and bopped him on the nose. 

“Ok,” Patrick said sadly. 

“Next time we see you, you’ll be ours forever,” Marcy said barely keeping the tears at bay. Her guts were churning. She’d just been holding the boy in her lap all afternoon but her body ached, lamenting his absence. 

Amanda strapped him into his booster seat and he said something that made all three adults freeze in place. 

“Patrick, what?” Amanda shook her head in disbelief. 

“Bye Mama! Bye Daddy!” He waved and made a wildly silly face. 

Marcy felt faint, Clint felt like sobbing. Amanda knew she’d made the right call when she contacted the Brewers to be Patrick’s parents. 

And Patrick knew it too. 


	2. 27 Hours Later

Clint and Marcy Brewer might have gone home empty handed, but with overflowing hearts. They took turns calling their parents, siblings and close friends. They maintained the same level of enthusiasm each and every time they repeated the news:

They were bringing their boy home.

The 24 hour-mark came and went without a call from Amanda. Clint distracted himself by mowing the lawn, trimming the hedges, spreading mulch and pulling the tiniest weeds in the flower beds.

Marcy was glad that she’d quit smoking after college because she would have gone through at least a pack and a half in those three extra hours.

Clint came inside, covered in grass stains, sweating and stinking like a farm animal. He raised both arms at her.

“Amanda still didn’t call?”

Marcy shook her head and looked down at her hands, the condensation beaded up on the glass of ice water she’d been ignoring.

“Were _we_ supposed to call?” He asked.

She shook her head again. “No, I thought maybe I’d misunderstood but...Clint...I did call. Twenty-four hours on the dot and she isn’t picking up.” She started choking on her words.

“Well what the hell is going on?!” He shouted. 

The phone hanging on the kitchen wall rang out.

They shared a look and Marcy raced her husband to answer it.

“Hello?”

“Mrs. Brewer?” Marcy relaxed against the wall hearing Amanda’s voice.

“Yes, speaking,” she replied and looked up at her husband, hopeful.

“I apologize for the delay in calling you. There’s been an incident.”

Feeling chunks rising up to her throat, Marcy nearly collapsed.

“Wha - what do you mean an incident? Is Patrick alright?” She sniffled.

Clint stepped back; his face flushed with anger. “I knew it...I _knew_...I felt it in my bones that something was going to happen, Marcy – I knew it!”

She waved her hand at him, asking him to shush – Amanda was talking and she couldn’t hear what was being said.

“Amanda - I...what’s going on? Where’s Patrick?”

“First of all, he’s ok. Two of the older boys in the group home were rough housing and...Patrick was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“What?! What happened to my son, Amanda?” She asked, barely able to avoid yelling at the top of her voice. She’d thought of Patrick as her son at least a hundred times since meeting him but that was the first time she’d said it out loud.

“I’m not clear on exactly how but...Patrick’s front tooth got knocked out,” Amanda informed her. “The home called 911 and me, we’re in the Emergency Room.”

“Which hospital? We’re coming right now,” Marcy’s eyes grew wide and round. Clint grabbed the car keys and went straight to the driveway.

Amanda told her where to go and said she’d stay there until they arrived.

Marcy snatched her purse and ran outside to meet Clint in the car. He raged as he drove, blaming himself. 

“He’s ok, Clint. He’s fine.”

“It’s not ok, Marcy!”

“I _know_ that! It’s not! But he’s coming home with us tonight – I don’t care what anybody says. My boy is coming home where he belongs and he’s sleeping in his own room tonight!” She covered her face with both hands and sobbed.

Clint forgot how angry he was and he softened. He rubbed her back until she calmed down.

Amanda met them at the door and explained that two of the bigger boys were play fighting and Patrick accidentally got kicked in the mouth.

“They were absolutely not trying to hurt him. I know those boys, they’re not like that. It was an accident,” she assured them.

“An accident that wouldn’t have happened if you’d let us take him home with us!” Clint was barely able to breathe.

“I know that. And I am sorry. My hands were tied.”

A nurse came through the double doors and called to Amanda. Clint pushed past her into the hallway.

“We sedated him, so he’s quiet. The doctor is in with him,” she said in a hushed voice as they walked.

“I’m going to call the home and let them know. They’ll pack up his stuff and I’ll bring it here for you, ok?” Amanda raised her eyebrows at the Brewers. They nodded in agreement.

“Thank you,” Marcy said. “It’s not your fault, Amanda.”

The statement caught her off-guard. She nodded appreciatively. 

“I’ll have the paperwork ready for you to sign and when they discharge him, you can take him home.”

The exam room opened and the doctor poked his head out. 

“Are you the parents?” He asked.

“Yes, yes...that’s us,” Marcy took her husband’s hand.

Patrick was awake but drowsy, holding an ice pack to a fat lip. Marcy choked on a sob when he saw the drops of blood on Patrick’s shirt, her stomach clenched at the sight of more blood on his face.

“Mum-muh,” Patrick said with a sleepy voice. He reached out to Marcy and she covered his fingers in kisses, brushing his messy hair from his forehead.

“Your son’s got a pretty tough nose,” The doctor said pointing at Patrick’s face with the end of a pen. 

“It’s not broken?” Clint asked. The doctor shook his head.

“No. The tooth however, ” the doctor pulled an x-ray film out of a folder and held it up to the light. “Broke pretty cleanly. There doesn’t appear to be any tissue damage, the adult tooth should come in just fine. In a couple of weeks, follow up with a pediatric dentist just to be sure but as far as I can see, he’s ok.”

“Hear that, Pal?” Clint threaded his fingers through Patrick’s hair. 

The doctor explained he’d be sore and eating might prove uncomfortable because his gums were slightly bruised. Other than that, he was a-ok. They thanked the doctor and Marcy climbed up on the examining table to hold Patrick in her arms. Feeling his thin frame in her arms again made all of her anxiety melt away. Clint stood next to them and rubbed her back, further soothing her nerves.

The doctor gave them the name of a couple of dentists they could take Patrick to and let them wait there for Amanda to bring Patrick’s belongings. Clint told the boy silly stories while they waited and it got later and later. He fell asleep against Marcy’s chest again.

Finally, Amanda was knocking on the door and she snuck inside quietly.

“I have his bags in my car, are you all set here?” she whispered. The Brewers nodded. 

She laid out the forms that they barely read. All they wanted was to take Patrick home. It didn’t matter what they were agreeing to when they signed the documents, they’d agree to anything under the sun if it meant he was theirs.

Clint carefully snuck his hands under Patrick’s tiny body and lifted him off the table. Marcy’s arm was numb. With his body weight off of it, she felt the blood flow return to her ghost limb, it soon took on the pins and needles feeling.

Clint buckled Patrick in his seat and they waited for Amanda to meet them at their car. She pulled up and Clint popped the trunk open. She carefully dropped the bags in the trunk and reached into her purse, pulling out Patrick’s prized possession.

“Spiderman!” Marcy said, relieved. 

Amanda handed her the bear and her business card.

“Please call me if you need any support. The first few weeks can be difficult as you all adjust.”

Marcy tucked the card into her pocket and shook Amanda’s hand. 

Once they were seated in the car with the windows up and the doors closed, Marcy and Clint looked at each other and started laughing.

They laughed _hard_.

They laughed away the anguish of infertility; of six failed IVF treatments; of praying for a baby. 

They laughed until tears came and they held each other’s hands while they looked in the backseat of their car and saw an absolutely perfect little human sleeping there. 

“Toys R Us is closed,” Clint said, smiling.

“You could definitely use a shower,” Marcy commented. He’d almost forgotten how gross and sweaty he was from yardwork.

“Let’s get our boy home,” Marcy said, holding her hand out to her husband. He closed his long fingers around her hand and squeezed.

Fifteen minutes later the car went over a pothole and Patrick was jostled awake. He made a scared little yelp. He woke up disoriented; he didn’t know where he was.

“Muhmuh!” he cried out, his swollen lip was still interfering with the clarity of his speech.

“I’m here, My Sweet Boy, I’m here!” Marcy turned in her seat and smiled at him. “Look who I have!”   
She held Patrick’s teddy bear to him and he gasped. 

“Piderman!” He wiggled his fingers and reached out as far as he could.

Marcy clicked her seatbelt open so she could lean the rest of the way and hand Patrick his bear. As soon as he had it clasped against his chest, she re-buckled herself.

“I hungwee,” Patrick said.

Clint laughed and looked at his son in the rearview mirror. “That hollow leg is empty, eh?”

He pulled into the drive thru of a fast food restaurant not far from their house and Marcy clicked her tongue.

“Problem?” Clint asked.

“No, no problem. I was just hoping to cook my son’s first meal,” she said.

Clint shrugged. “A little fast food grease isn’t going to hurt him, Marce. You have the whole rest of our lives to cook for him.”

“Yeah, I guess I do,” she wrinkled her nose when she smiled.

They ordered some burgers and fries; Clint turned to Patrick and asked if he wanted a milkshake.

“Yes, pwease! Choc’lit pwease!”

“And three chocolate milkshakes, please,” Clint smiled as he spoke into the speaker.

Once they were home, Marcy carried Patrick inside and they sat at the kitchen table eating. Marcy used a butter knife to cut his hamburger into smaller pieces and told him to try chewing on the opposite side of his mouth.

“If your mouth hurts, take a sip of your drink. It’s nice and cold, ok?” 

Patrick nodded and did as she suggested. He didn’t complain once. His feet were making a thu-thunk, thu-thunk noise as he swung his legs and his feet tapped on the table leg. Clint finished eating and excused himself to take a shower.

Patrick ate slowly, his eyelids at half-mast. He yawned, having finished his milkshake and sandwich but not the French fries.

“I sweepy Muh-muh,” he leaned his cheek on the palm of his hand and yawned again.

“Ready for bed, baby?” Marcy ran her fingers through his hair.

“Uh-huh.”

Clint came back into the kitchen smelling fresh and wearing clean pajamas. He approached the table and kissed the top of Patrick’s head.

“Patrick, um, do you want me or…or Daddy to give you a bath honey?” Marcy asked. She looked up at her husband and watched the expression of joy and pride spread across his face.

The boy rubbed both eyes and looked back and forth between them. He raised a finger and pointed at her.

“Deal,” she reached out and tickled his ribs. 

“While you do that, I’ll throw some laundry in.,” Clint said. He stepped into his slippers and went out to the car to retrieve the bags of Patrick’s clothes from the trunk.

Marcy held her hands out to Patrick, offering to carry him to the bathroom and he cuddled into her. He grinned when he saw the array of brand-new bath toys waiting for him in a blue mesh bag hanging from the tiled wall. Marcy ran a bath, adding extra Mr. Bubble; she tested and re-tested the water with her elbow to make sure the temperature was just right.  
She feared that it would be awkward to take his clothes off, he was still getting to know her after all but Patrick offered no resistance when she helped him undress and get into the tub. Marcy dropped a couple of toy boats into the water and watched him play, sinking the boats and pouring the water out of them. 

He let her gently wash him with a soft cloth and they were both yawning by the time the water went cold. She picked him up out of the water and dried him off.

“Clint, honey?” she called out.

“Yeah?”

“Patrick need pajamas, please.”

“Sure thing. One minute.”

He popped into the bathroom carrying cozy looking blue and green pajamas decorated with a pattern of pizza slices. They got him dressed and Clint took the boy’s hand to lead him down the hall to his room while Marcy cleaned up the bathroom.

“Ok, Sport,” he lifted the boy and tucked him in.

“We’re in the room right across the hall if you need us, ok?” he pointed to the dark bedroom opposite Patrick’s. 

“Thpiderman…where Piderman?” Patrick’s eyes grew wide.

“Oh, um…”

“_Thpidermaaaan_…” Patrick started to cry. Marcy came running.

“What’s wrong?” She sat on the bed and Patrick cried into her sleeve.

“The teddy bear…I put it in the washing machine…it had blood on it…” Clint wore a devastated expression, as if he’d already failed as a parent.

“Ok. Ok, Patrick can you look at me, please?”

He sniffled and met her eyes.

“Spiderman was dirty and he needed a bath, just like you. He’s not dry yet.”

“But…I want Thpiderman,” Patrick whimpered pathetically. 

“How about this guy, Patrick?” Clint offered him a plush Pound Puppy they'd purchased for him at the toy store. The boy nodded, looking unsure but he accepted the temporary substitute. 

“Spiderman will be waiting for you in the morning, ok?” Clint asked.

Marcy got him settled down and the couple sat there watching Patrick breathe.

“He’s the most beautiful, perfect little thing I’ve ever seen,” Clint whispered to his wife. She agreed, of course.

They lost all track of time watching Patrick sleep and Marcy felt herself start to nod out. They quietly exited the room and she readied herself for bed. Clint plugged in nightlights in the hallway and in Patrick’s room in case he needed to find the bathroom in the middle of the night. 

He got into bed and curled himself around his wife’s body. Their breathing synched and they faded out.

Some time later, Marcy was wide awake, thinking she heard Patrick crying. She lay very still, concentrating her ears. The second she definitely heard Patrick sobbing, she bolted out of bed and into his room.  
Her heart sank when she found the bed empty. Slightly disoriented, she listened for the boy and eventually located him on the floor near the closet.

“Patrick, honey? Are you alright?”

“I…I sahwwy…” he cried great big tears and hugged his knees to his chest.

She crawled on the floor over to him when her eyes adjusted to the darkness. 

“Sorry for what, baby boy? What’s wrong?”

Patrick hid his face behind the Pound Puppy and cried harder. Marcy was about to ask him again when she smelled the urine odor in the room. It was quickly evident that Patrick had an accident.

“Oh Patrick, it’s ok. Don’t cry My Sweet Boy. Mama’s not mad.”

He crept up into her arms and played with her hair while she wiped his face with her shirt.

“C'mon, let’s get you cleaned up.” She picked him up and carried him into her bedroom to wake Clint.

“Honey?” She nudged the bed until he snorted awake. She explained what had happened and he got out of bed to strip Patrick’s sheets. 

Marcy gave her son a second bath and dressed him in fresh pajamas.

“Kye seep wiv you, Mama?” Patrick asked.

Her eyes stung with tears from the sheer sweetness of the question.

“Of course you can, baby boy.”

Clint came back from the laundry room to find his wife and son cuddled together in bed. He leaned against the door jamb and absorbed what he saw. Marcy was stroking Patrick’s hair and holding him as tightly as she could. He slipped between the sheets and met her eyes, smiling.

It had taken years to get here and it was worth every minute of it.


	3. Happy Birthday, Patrick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's May 1990 and Patrick turns four years old.

Marcy fell asleep late and woke up early. The anticipation was pulsing through her body and she gave up trying to lay still. She put on her slippers and light cotton robe, creeping carefully to the kitchen. She switched the coffee pot on and looked out the kitchen window while it brewed. The aroma filled the kitchen and just like in the TV commercial, it woke Clint and he shuffled into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. 

“How long have you been up?” He asked, seeing his wife standing over the sink. 

“Not long. I couldn’t sleep,” she replied. 

He smiled and wrapped his arms around her, kissing her neck. 

“I’m excited too,” he said. 

“Do you really think we can put that swing set up by ourselves?” She indicated the newly leveled spot in their yard. The giant cardboard box containing the pre-cut pieces of lumber and metal fittings was hidden in the shed. 

He shrugged, yawning. “If not, I can call your brother to come early and help, right?” 

They had coffee and cornflakes while the sun came up, the quiet of their house was no longer stifling. Patrick was still small but his laugh and the sounds of him playing with his toys filled every room with life. She played with charm hanging from her gold necklace while he finished his second cup. 

He chuckled loudly enough for her to look over at him. 

“You want to go put it up now, don’t you?” He raised a knowing eyebrow at her and her cheeks turned pink when she nodded. 

“I’ll put my shoes on.” 

She went to the bedroom to change out of her pajamas into sweats and a t-shirt. Stopping by Patrick’s bedroom, she leaned against the door jamb and watched him sleep. Spiderman had fallen on the floor sometime during the night. She crept in and tucked the bear under his arm, careful not to wake him. 

It took over two and a half hours, a lot of swearing and teamwork but they got the swing set up. Marcy wiped her forehead on the back of her arm and admired their handiwork while Clint hung the two swings and the pull-up bar between them. He tightened the bolts that attached the slide and pushed on it. 

“He’s gonna love this,” Clint said with great pride. They’d taken Patrick back to the park where they had their second meeting with him. Patrick spent hours on the swings and hanging upside down on the monkey bars. 

Marcy pulled the sliding door open and they toed off their sneakers before walking in. She listened for signs that Patrick was awake but the house was still quiet. 

“Let’s wake him up,” Clint rubbed her back. “I can’t take it anymore.” 

They walked into Patrick’s room and sat on either side of his bed. His long curls were a mess on his pillow because Marcy didn’t have the heart to take him to the barber. 

“Hey Champ,” Clint said, softly rubbing Patrick’s arm to rouse him. 

They watched his eyelids flutter and he stirred. He peeked an eye open and seeing his parents sitting there, he smirked and turned his head, pretending to be asleep. 

“I see you, sneaky boy,” Marcy teased her fingers under his arms and he giggled. 

He sat up in bed, rubbing both eyes. 

“Happy Birthday, Patrick,” Clint threaded his fingers through his hair, pulling his forehead in to kiss him. 

“Iss my birfday?” He yawned. 

“Mm-hmm,” Marcy slipped her thumb into his fist. “Happy Birthday My Sweet Boy.” 

Patrick smiled and reached out to touch her face. 

“Do you want to see your presents?” Clint asked. Patrick’s eyes grew wide and he nodded excitedly. 

“I hungwee, too,” he turned to Marcy. 

“Pancakes or eggs?” 

“Pancakes!” 

Patrick whipped his blankets back and scrambled off his bed, rocketing to the kitchen. While Marcy started making his birthday pancakes, Clint helped Patrick brush his teeth and made sure he washed his hands. He sat in his usual seat at the kitchen table and he gasped when his father put his presents in front of him. 

“Wow!” Patrick exclaimed, clapping his hands. “Kye opennum?” 

“Go for it, Buddy!” 

Patrick opened his presents, pausing to eat his pancakes. He said he wanted to wear his new Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles pajamas to bed that night. Clint struggled with the plastic ties that held his WWF Wrestling Buddy in the packaging. They’d purchased Hulk Hogan, knowing that Marcy’s brother had already bought him the Macho Man Randy Savage one. 

“Do you like your stuff, Patrick?” Marcy asked taking his empty plate to the sink. 

“Uh-huh! I gots Hulk Hogan!” Patrick held the toy above his head. 

“There’s one more present, it’s outside.” Clint picked him up and carried him to the glass door. 

“_What?!” _Patrick’s reaction was so genuinely surprised and excited, tears sprang to his mother’s eyes. He wiggled free of Clint’s arms and jumped up and down, waiting for the door to be pulled open. 

“Wait! Wait! Patrick, you need shoes!” Marcy tried catching him before he ran outside and climbed the ladder to go down the slide. 

Clint laughed and they followed him outside. He put an arm around her and they watched Patrick try to sit on the swing that was just a little too high off the ground for him. Undeterred, he laid across the seat on his stomach and pretended to be flying. 

“Daddy! I kin fwy!” 

Marcy checked the time and called out to Patrick. It was time for a bath, the family was going to start arriving soon for the party. He whined, not wanting to obey but eventually did, once Marcy told him that his cousins were going to be there to play with him. While she helped him clean up, Clint went out to pick up the giant balloon arrangements and decorations she’d ordered from the party store. 

A few hours later, the house was full of family members. There was music playing, people were talking and laughing, enjoying the late spring afternoon. They’d almost postponed the party when the weather report predicted rain but the sun came out the day before, as if nature knew it was Patrick’s birthday. Clint was getting the grill ready. Patrick was running in circles in the backyard being chased by his cousins Cody, Remy and Asher. The other kids were playing basketball in the driveway. Marcy stood on the deck, watching the kids play and swirling a glass of white wine in her hand. 

“So, how is everything going?” Her sister Renee gently tugged on her ponytail and took the wine glass from her hand, taking a sip. 

“Great, just...just great,” Marcy smiled. 

“You know I can tell when you’re lying, right?” Renee raised a dark eyebrow at her. 

“I’m not lying,” Marcy took her wine back. 

“Mmhmm. What’s up?” 

Renee could always intuit when something was wrong. It was very annoying. Marcy took a sip from her glass and sighed. 

“How do I know if I’m screwing up?” She’d lowered he chin to her chest but raised her eyes, seeking her sister’s advice. 

Renee laughed and easily put an arm around her waist, giving her a squeeze. 

“You’re a parent. It’s official,” she teased. 

Marcy rolled her eyes and smiled. 

“No, really – I feel so inadequate. Like he deserves so much better than me.” As she finished speaking, she gasped and almost leapt over the railing. Patrick had taken a hard fall when he jumped off the swing. Renee steadied her with a hand on her arm as Patrick got up from the grass, laughing and smiling. 

“He’s a great kid,” Renee said. “Seems like he’s happy here. He’s certainly filling out,” she laughed. It was true, Patrick was developing an adorable amount of baby fat around his midsection. 

“Mama! Watch!” Patrick shouted as he let go of the swing and flew through the air. He landed on his feet and clenched his fists over his head. She smiled with pride and clapped her hands. 

Being called ‘Mama’ was not ever going to get old. 

Renee pulled her sister into a hug. “You and Clint are doing great. They don’t come with an instruction manual. You know you can call me and Artie if you need help.” 

Marcy swallowed the insecurity that had been thrumming inside her chest. She hugged her sister tight. 

“Seriously, what’s going on? What’s wrong?” Renee’s voice took on a serious tone and she pulled away from the embrace first. 

Marcy wiped her eye and checked over her shoulder to see where the kids were. Patrick was standing in the middle of a round plastic kiddie pool – the self-serve squirt gun refilling station. Marcy and Renee’s brother Artie was in charge of the hose and being an overgrown kid himself, he was using it to spray everyone within a three-foot radius. 

“He has these fits sometimes – he cries and screams over the slightest little thing. When he gets like that, I don’t know how to reach him,” Marcy’s eyes were locked on Patrick. Artie had just held the hose right over his head and he was absolutely soaked. He wiped his face with both hands and jumped on Artie’s back, laughing. 

The sisters watched their brother stand up and run around the yard, loudly mimicking a horse while Patrick hung on for dear life. 

“Part of that is just kid stuff. They’re all little assholes, sometimes,” Renee joked. “Remember when Gracie was three? I could barely leave the house – she was constantly throwing tantrums. She grew out of it.” 

Marcy nodded, remembering. Nobody would guess it now, but her niece was a pint-sized terrorist as a three-year-old. 

“He had one last night – I can’t even tell you what triggered it. I just held him while he cried until he calmed down. The caseworker said some kids act out when they get to a new foster home, they test the waters and see what they can get away with; they push boundaries to find out if we’ll send them back.” 

“Would you? I mean, are you second-guessing the adoption?” 

“No, certainly not.” 

Renee thought about her reply carefully. 

“Maybe tell him that? When he acts out? Reassure him that you love him and he’s home to stay. Be patient. You are doing the best you can. He’s been through a lot, poor baby,” Renee advised. “Does he ever...talk about, you know, his birth parents?” 

Marcy shook her head. “Never. I don’t know if he remembers them at all, or if he’s too traumatized to talk about it.” 

The Brewers decided right away that they would always be honest with their son about his biological parents. There were different schools of thought on when to introduce that information and hopefully, they had plenty of time before Patrick would ask. 

Marcy had gone to the library and found a newspaper article about the car accident. The couple was so young when they died. There was an empty car seat in the back of the mangled car – it was unclear at the time the article was written where their toddler was. Turns out, they had hired a babysitter to watch him while they went to a concert. The police said speed was a factor. When the car hit the black ice, it was going too fast, it hit and flipped over the guardrail and rolled down an embankment. She printed the article and kept it in an envelope. She knew she had to protect Patrick but when he was old enough, if he ever asked what actually happened to his real parents, she could tell him. 

Remy and Asher initiated a game of Monkey in the Middle with Patrick as the monkey. He didn’t quite understand the rules and seemed to think the older kids were picking on him until Artie stepped in. 

“Ash, if you don’t let Patrick have a turn out of the middle I’m gonna take away the Atari for a week,” he warned using a stern dad voice. 

“But Dad, that's the _game!” _Asher protested.

“He’s littler than you, give him a chance!” 

Asher huffed at first but he bobbled the ball and accidentally on purpose kicked it close enough to Patrick that he could grab it easily. Once Patrick realized that his older cousin now had to be in the middle, he enjoyed the game a lot more. 

“Ok, who’s ready to eat?” Clint called out. 

“ME!” Patrick abandoned the game and ran towards the brick patio where the food was set up. 

“The birthday boy is hungry? I’m shocked!” Clint laughed and took a sip of his beer. 

They gathered around the folding tables eating and talking. Patrick sat in Marcy’s lap and was covered in ketchup in seconds. Clint always put too much ketchup on Patrick’s hamburgers. 

Marcy picked at her food. She was too occupied watching Patrick enjoy himself, surrounded by the smiling faces of people who cared about him. She cuddled him and missed no opportunity to run her fingers through his hair. 

“Patrick, smile!” Marcy's dad called out as he snapped a picture. Patrick’s wide-eyed, over stimulated, ‘it’s my birthday' smile made everyone laugh. 

“It feels like he’s always been here,” Clint’s mother said to her husband.. “It’s funny to say this but…I can’t hardly remember a time before they brought him home.” 

“He’s a little gem,” Clint’s stepfather replied. 

Clint enlisted Artie to help him bring the giant sheet cake out to the yard. He lit the candles and Artie held the door open for him while he carried it. Marcy covered Patrick’s eyes so he’d be surprised when he saw it. 

The group began to sing a comically off-key rendition of Happy Birthday and Patrick giggled, putting his hands over Marcy’s. Clint put the cake on the table in front of him and Marcy moved her hands. 

Patrick squealed when he saw the Spiderman cartoon design on the cake. He looked up at Clint with a smile so bright it could melt a glacier. 

“Happy Birthday to yooou!” They finished singing and Marcy kissed his cheek before he took a deep breath and blew out all of his candles. Clint picked him up and hugged the boy who looked very proud of himself for blowing them all out at once while everyone applauded. 

They were finishing eating cake while sun went down. Mosquitoes started to come out so they crowded into the living room for Patrick to open presents. 

Patrick’s grandparents, aunts and uncles spoiled him with piles and piles of wrapped gifts. In fact, there were so many Marcy took a few boxes to the hallway closet and tucked them away for another day. He tore into the presents and his enthusiasm lasted until he was very near the end. He yawned and rubbed his eyes. 

“Do you like it, Patrick?” Marcy's mother asked as he examined the box labeled Crocodile Mile. 

“Whassit, Gramma?” He asked. 

She paused before answering, the way he said it so easily was quite possibly the sweetest thing she’d ever heard. He’d only met his extended family a few times before the party but he knew who they all were and he called them by name. 

“It’s a waterslide! You lay it in the grass, fill that part with water and then you run and slide down it.” 

Patrick’s jaw dropped with excitement. “Mama! Kin we do it _now?” _

“Not tonight, Patrick but tomorrow afternoon…definitely,” Marcy replied. 

Clint had been taking pictures of the room, determined to fully document as much of Patrick’s fourth birthday as possible. He zoomed way in on his face and captured the purest sleepy smile he’d ever seen. 

“Daddy, wook-it!” Patrick held up the GI Joe Avalanche snow tank he’d just opened. 

The clench of his heart and twist in his stomach made Clint forget to take a picture. The simple memory of his son calling him Daddy at his birthday party wouldn’t ever be too far from the forefront of his mind. 


	4. The Blue Jays Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a few years later and Patrick gets to experience a singular right of passage:
> 
> His first baseball game at the Skydome.

“Patrick, do not let go of my hand!” Clint ordered as they walked through the main gate.

Blindly following his father’s lead, Patrick was able to look around, taking in the sights all around him. He was a little overwhelmed and he sort of wished he hadn’t left Spiderman in the car. He was eight now; a little too old to carry around a stuffed animal, regardless of how much comfort it gave him.

There were people everywhere; a veritable sea of blue, white and grey. He smelled the food carts as they walked; the amazing scent of real-life, bonafide ballpark hot dogs and soft pretzels.

His stomach grumbled, it felt like it had been years since breakfast. He licked his lips and was about to ask his father if they could stop for a snack before they sat down when someone bumped into him and knocked his cap off.

“Aah! Daddy! My hat!” Patrick stopped and tugged on Clint’s hand, pulling him back towards his beloved ballcap. It didn’t quite fit him anymore; he’d had it since he was three.

Clint turned and saw Patrick trying to grab for his hat. People were pushing through, not looking down or expecting a small boy to dart out in front of them. Patrick nearly got trampled more than once.

He finally got his hands on it and he brushed it off on his jeans.

“All set?” Clint’s eyes were scanning the crowd. It was the first time Marcy had let him take Patrick to a Jay’s game and if he came home with so much as a scratch, it might be years before she let them go again.

“Yup!” Patrick adjusted the hat on his head and smiled up at his dad. The space in his smile left by the front tooth which got knocked out when he was little was finally filling in. It was a sure sign that he was growing up faster than either of his parents liked.

“Can we get a hot dog or something?” He asked, taking his father’s hand again.

“Let’s find our seats and then we’ll worry about that,” Clint double-checked their tickets and pulled Patrick towards the marked entryway to their section.

“Artie!” Clint shouted, cupping one hand next to his mouth. His brother-in-law looked up and waved. He let Patrick walk in front of him and they squeezed past people to reach their seats.

“Hey Big Man,” Artie ruffled Patrick’s hair and offered him a high five.

Asher waved to Patrick and the boys started to chat excitedly about the game. Asher had been attending games regularly since he was five. Patrick had been jealous every time his father left the house all decked out in his game-day attire. It was with no small amount of begging on Patrick’s part that Marcy relented.

“I’m gonna go get food – what does everybody want?” Clint said, cracking his knuckles. He took their orders and did a mental organization of how he’d carry everything back by himself. He nodded and started to leave, but he spoke a final word to Patrick.

“Stay right here with your uncle, Paddy, ok?”

“He’s fine, Clint,” Artie put his arm around Patrick in a side hug.

“_I_ know that and _you_ know that but...”

“But Mama Marcy is worried. I know, I know. You didn’t grow up with her. She’s always been a mother hen,” Artie laughed.

Clint nodded and headed off to get them their food. Patrick looked out at the field and his heart started to race: his first real-life baseball game at the Skydome. The great Alomar was going to be right there in front of him. He swung his legs in his seat, his feet almost touched the ground.

“Oh, hey Patrick!” Asher called to him.

“Yeah?”

His cousin was holding a glove out to him and Patrick cocked his head.

“It’s too small for me but it’ll probably fit you,” Asher smiled.

“To keep?” Patrick said, taking the glove from him.

“Course!” Asher replied.

“Thanks!” Patrick hugged the glove to his chest before he slipped it on and squeezed it shut. It was beat up and well-loved but it fit his hand like it was made for him. Patrick punched his fist into the palm of the glove and practiced opening and shutting it like he’d seen players do during every game he’d ever watched.

“Maybe we can convince your mom to let you play Little League next year,” Artie said.

“Second base! Or outfield!” Patrick gasped.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

By the time Clint returned with an impressive number of hot dogs, drinks, popcorn, candy and a soft pretzel with mustard, the game was about to begin. The announcer called the names of the Blue Jays roster and when the MLB All-Star, three-time Gold Glove winner took the field, Patrick leapt to his feet cheering.

Clint and Artie exchanged knowing looks: Patrick had definitely been bitten by the baseball bug.

Guzman was pitching a solid game and the birds took an early lead. He struck out McCarty, ending the inning and the two boys began to chant.

“Guzman, Guzman, _Guuuuuuuuuzmaaaaaan_!”

The game dragged through scoreless innings. Clint took him for a walk to the Jays Shop and bought him a new hat, a t-shirt, and the jewel of the bunch: an authentic number 12 jersey. When they got back to their seats, the sun was beating down overhead and Patrick’s forehead was glistening. They were packed in like sardines. People were loud and getting louder the more beer they drank. They stood up in front of them so he missed seeing John Olerud’s two-run homerun. His bladder was threatening to explode and he’d had too much sugar.

And then it happened.

Alomar was up and he was two behind the Twins’ pitcher. He stepped out of the batter’s box, holding up his hand. He spit and adjusted his gloves, then turned both ways at the waist, swinging his arms. He stepped back into the box and he twisted his hands, choking up on the bat. He narrowed his eyes at the pitcher and swung at the first pitch. There was a hard thwack. The ball sailed into the air and he didn’t run. It was immediately evident that it he’d hit it foul.

The ball sailed and floated into the stands. Everyone near them was looking up, waiting to see where it was going to finally drop.

“Oh my god...oh my god...” Clint watched it coming their way.

Patrick bit his lower lip in concentration and held up his gloved hand, his bare hand at the ready. The ball changed directions just enough and suddenly, it was in his hands. He gripped the glove closed and held it closed with his other hand.

They were silent at first, Artie and Clint looked at each other, wide eyed and slack jawed. Asher started shouting first.

“You caught it! Patrick caught the ball! Hey! Look! My cousin caught Alomar’s foul ball!” He jumped up and down with his arms above his head.

Clint grabbed his son and hugged him tightly. Artie pointed up at the jumbotron screen and the camera had focused on Patrick.

“That’s my kid!” Clint said pointing at the screen, seeing them both reflected there.

Patrick smiled wide and took the ball out of his glove, holding it up for everyone to see.

Aside from the day three years earlier when he was officially adopted, this was the greatest day of his life.

“Do you want me to hold onto that, Patrick?” His father asked him, offering to put it in the plastic shopping bag with the things he’d purchased.

“No way!” Patrick replied. “I’m never letting go of it!”

By the final out, it felt like 48,000 people were all on their feet, cheering. As the smallest one in their group, Patrick couldn’t see the field so Clint picked him up and let him put his feet in the armrest of his chair.

“They won, Daddy! They WON!” He was so happy and so exhausted, Patrick cried.

“Just for you Paddy. They won for you,” his father hugged him.

Artie and Clint kept the boys between them as they walked out of the stadium in a single-file line. They’d been given explicit instructions not to goof around – there were a lot of people around and therefore very easy to get lost if they got separated from the group. Patrick kept looking down at the ball, still in his gloved hand. He couldn’t wait to get home to tell his mom all about it.

When he looked up again, he was definitely not standing behind his father. Asher and Uncle Artie were definitely not standing behind him. His eyes grew wide and he froze in place, nearly getting knocked down by the crowd of people.

“Hey, look out, kid!”

“Watch where you’re going!”

“Daddy?” Patrick couldn’t raise his voice above the din. He was scared. He didn’t know what to do. He looked around, panicked and everyone’s faces were blending together. They all looked the same and none of them looked like his father.

Finally, he saw a police officer standing near the washrooms. He broke into a run, holding the glove and his ball close to his chest. Tears were streaming down his red cheeks.

The grey-haired officer looked down when he saw Patrick approaching. He bent down to be on face-level with him.

“Lose your dad, son?”

“Uh-huh,” Patrick replied sniffling.

“Ok. We’ll find him. Stay right here with me. What’s your name?”

“Pa...Patrick. Patrick B-Brewer,” he started crying again.

“Everything’s ok, Patrick. We’ll find your dad, he’s probably talking to another officer right now, looking for you.” He rubbed Patrick’s shoulder reassuringly and spoke into his radio. “I’ve got a lost child. White male, approximately 6 years old, curly brown hair. His name’s Patrick.”

Patrick wiped his eyes on his sleeve and kept looking around for any sign of his father, his uncle or his cousin.

“THERE HE IS! _DAD_! THERE’S PATRICK!” Asher raced over to him and hugged his cousin tight. Uncle Artie was hot on Asher’s heels and he lifted Patrick off of his feet.

“My god we were looking everywhere for you, kiddo!” Artie turned around and started shouting for Clint.

“I’ll go find Uncle Clint!” Asher offered.

“No! You stay right here by me. One lost kid is more than enough for one day,” Artie protectively grabbed the back of Asher’s t-shirt.

“Is this your son, Sir?” The officer asked.

“My nephew,” Artie said. “My brother-in-law is here somewhere – we got separated.” Artie’s face was wild with panic and he had a death grip on Patrick.

“Artie!” Clint’s booming voice made them all look up.

“DADDY!”

Artie put Patrick down and he ran into his father’s arms.

“Are you alright? Are you? You were there one second and gone the next! You scared me!” Clint’s tone was a mixture of fear, relief, and admonishment.

“I’m so sorry, Daddy,” Patrick cried and dropped his face into his father’s neck.

“It’s ok...you’re ok...my god Patrick I was so scared.”

The officer approached and confirmed that Patrick was back with his father.

“Thank you so much officer, really,” Clint shook his hand.

“Happens every game day, Sir. I’m glad he’s ok. You have a good night,” he smiled and poked Patrick in the ribs. “You be more careful, ok?”

“Uh-huh. Thank you,” Patrick replied weakly.

Clint thanked the officer again and he set Patrick down, holding his hand so firmly Patrick felt the bones compress a little. Calm washed over them and they headed back toward the exit together.

By the time they got back to the parking area, Patrick was yawning but didn’t feel like he could sleep; he was too worked up.

“What did you think, Patrick? Do you want to do this again?” His uncle asked.

“OH yeah!” Patrick replied emphatically.

“Minus the police interaction,” Artie elbowed Clint. “We’ll wait until you’re a teenager for that, please. Yes?”

Patrick grinned and nodded. They said their goodbyes and Asher asked for one last look at the foul ball Patrick caught.

“So, _SO_ cool,” the twelve-year-old said when he handed it back. “You scared the sh-”

“_Ash_ -”

“Sugar. You scared the sugar out of me, Patrick. I should have been watching you, I’m sorry.”

“S’Ok,” Patrick shrugged.

Clint got Patrick situated in the back seat of the car and shut the door. Artie held up both hands in surrender.

“I’m so sorry he got lost – it was my fault,” Artie said.

Clint shook his head. “There were a lot of people around. He’s fine. It’s...it’s fine.” There was no bitterness in his words, no sarcasm. He was genuinely consoled by Patrick being in one safe piece in the car.

“Marcy will never hear about this from me. Or Asher. Right Ash?” He turned to his son and Asher nodded emphatically and mimed zipping his lips shut.

“I have to tell her. I can’t not tell her,” Clint said, knowing he was in for a world-class reproof when she found out, but better she hear it from him right away than accidentally find out later on.

Artie exhaled heavily. “Hey, it’s your funeral.”

They laughed, both knowing what Marcy was like when she was angry.

“Thanks for the tickets. Next game is on me,” he held his hand out and Artie shook it.

“See ya, Uncle Clint!” Asher waved when they started to walk away.

“Bye Ash!”

Patrick fell asleep in the car and Clint kept the radio on low to not disturb him. He kept stealing looks at him in the rearview mirror. He couldn’t let himself cry. He’d cry in the shower or when he went to get coffee the next morning. He needed to focus on the road, focus on the positive. Patrick was safe.

And he wasn’t going anywhere.


	5. Music is Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick is 10 and he discovers an aptitude for music.

When his mother first mentioned music lessons, Patrick thought it would mean giving up playing baseball, so he said no. 

A few months later when his grandmother was sick, they drove the hour and a half to her house to visit. Everyone was quiet and worried; the adults spoke in hushed tones. Patrick pushed his hands into his pockets and skirted the walls, trying to stay out of the way and unnoticed. 

He found himself strongly drawn to the baby grand piano in the parlor – the museum room, as his father called it. They only went in there on Christmas Eve when they opened presents under the twelve-foot tree. 

He was feeling nervous when he looked over his shoulder before pulling the bench out and sitting down. He stepped on the pedals, feeling the resistance. He rolled his lips inward and removed the red velvet dustcover, revealing the keyboard. His fingertips tentatively hovered over the black and white keys and slowly, finger by finger, he pressed each one down. The sound of each note buzzed through him; seeping into his pores. 

“Patrick?” Remy said his name and he startled, pulling the fallboard shut over the keys. 

“Sorry!” He almost tripped over his own feet scrambling away from the piano. 

“Hey, easy there!” The 16-year-old said sweetly. “You’re not in trouble.” 

She walked across the area rug and re-opened the fallboard. She patted the space next to her on the bench and Patrick sat down. 

“Do you play?” Remy asked playing a scale. 

“Uh-uh,” he shook his head. “I like music though.” 

“Hmm,” his cousin took his hand in hers and she looked at his fingers. “Short and stubby, but you still might be able to play. Billy Joel’s got big, fat sausage fingers and he’s amazing.” 

She swept her long, thin fingers across the keys, playing a tune that Patrick knew he’d heard before. 

“What is that song?” He asked. 

Remy smiled and continued playing, then she sang a slow, soft rendition of the rock song. 

“Give me a word, give me a sign. Show me where to look, tell me what will I find? What will I find? Lay me on the ground, fly me in the sky. Show me where to look, tell me what I will find? What will I find?” 

Patrick smiled, able to place it at last and he closed his eyes before joining in to sing with her. 

“Oh, heaven let your light shine down.” 

Remy grinned and they kept singing together. His voice was clear and crisp on the melody and she wove her way around the song, creating an airy harmony. 

One by one, the adults and other kids were drawn towards the music and they lingered at the threshold. 

When they finished singing, they were both startled by the soft applause and overwhelming praise. They looked at each other and then over at their parents. 

“Remy - you’ve got such a beautiful voice!” Marcy marvelled. 

“And _ Patrick, _my goodness.” Renee reveled. 

Remy put her arm around her cousin and squeezed him. 

“I guess we are going to have to talk about those music lessons again, huh?” Clint asked him. Patrick nodded. 

Marcy crossed the room towards her niece and son. She had tears in her eyes as she kissed their cheeks. 

“We all needed that today. Thank you. Both of you,” she cupped their faces. 

“Mom? Can we get a piano?” He asked. 

A sad blanche washed over her face. 

“When Gramma passes away, you can have this one.” She threaded her fingers through the curls on top of his head. 

Patrick’s eyes started to burn. He hoped he never inherited that piano if it meant his Gramma lived forever. 

A few months later the movers were setting up a ramp to carefully move the piano from the truck into the Brewer’s house. Clint graciously gave up his sizeable home office in favor of a music room. He could just as easily work from a desk in the finished basement; the piano deserved a room to itself. 

“Yeah Gram, they’re here now,” Patrick wound the phone cord around his fingers. Her condition improved considerably but she wanted Patrick to have the piano sooner rather than later. They spoke a little longer before she told him to go practice. They exchanged I love yous and Patrick hung up the phone. 

Marcy was looking over the piano with one of the movers to make sure it was in the same condition it had been in when they picked it up. She looked up when her son walked in the room and he was grinning from ear to ear. 

He sat on the bench and lovingly caressed the keys as the mover said goodbye and left. 

“We still need to get her tuned, Paddy. It’s probably not going to sound right,” Clint said from the doorway. 

“That’s ok, Dad.” 

He cracked his knuckles in the way that made his mother cringe before he decided what to play. He had a few songs in his repertoire that Remy had taught him. She encouraged him to keep at it and had loaned him one of her keyboards. Marcy sighed and sank into Clint’s side when their son played their wedding song. 

“You can take all the tea in China, put it in a big brown bag for me. Sail right round all the seven oceans, drop it straight into the deep blue sea. She’s as sweet as Tupelo honey. She’s an angel of the first degree...” 

Clint made Marcy giggle as he pulled her into his arms and they danced slowly to Patrick’s serenade. Then and there, at ten years old, Patrick decided that someday he’d have a love like that. The slow-dance to music for no good reason kind. 

The song ended and Patrick watched his father twirl his mother and pull her in for a kiss. 

“Come on, you guys – ew!” He teased. 

Clint winked at his son and told him the tuner was coming the following weekend. 

The music teacher they hired to come to the house weekly taught Patrick the basics: fingering techniques, scales, music theory and classical music. He could appreciate the old masters but Patrick’s taste in music went to more recent composers. Within months of the lessons beginning, Patrick started writing his own music. 

He was derailed abruptly when he broke two fingers on his right hand during a baseball game. He was sliding into second base and jammed his digit into the base, bending them back until they snapped. 

Patrick cried out in pain but he cried harder in the emergency room after the game when the doctor told him how long it would be before he could play the piano again. 

Clint grit his teeth and thanked the doctor. He pulled Patrick into a hug and rubbed his back while he sobbed. 

“I can’t play baseball or music? Dad – I'm gonna _ die _!” He wailed. 

When they got home, Patrick felt like crying again when he walked by the music room heading for his bedroom. He doubled back and shut the door, hoping that not seeing his beloved piano would give him some kind of escape from knowing he couldn’t play it. 

He was miserable in the days that passed. He went to school and came straight back home again, up to his room to read and try not to stare at the pile of untouched sheet music on his desk. He glared at the splint on his hand as if he could heal himself by sheer willpower. He pulled Spiderman out from under his pillow. The bear rarely left his bedroom anymore but nobody needed to know he still cuddled with the toy he’d had longer than he could remember. 

“Patrick? Can I come in?” The soft voice on the other side of the door belonged to Remy. He’d forgotten his Uncle Artie and his cousins were coming for dinner. 

“Yeah.” He rolled to his side away from the door. 

Remy opened the door and her heart sank. She’d come to regard Patrick as another little brother. Asher wasn’t as sensitive as Patrick; or at least he didn’t show it. 

“I’m sorry about your hand. Are you alright?” He heard her put something down on the floor and felt the mattress sink down when she sat next to him. 

“I can’t play music anymore,” he said miserably. 

“Just for a little bit,” she used her fingers to brush her hair up on top of her head and secured it with a black scrunchie. 

“What if I forget how?” Patrick sat up. “What if I can’t do it?” He felt like he’d been learning a foreign language when he looked at bars of music and he was rocketing towards fluency. When he was unable to practice, it felt like the door to the world of music he’d unlocked was closing back up. 

“You’re a natural musician, Patrick. You might be a little rusty at first but you’re not going to forget.” Remy moved closer and hugged him. She knew she couldn’t ask, Patrick wouldn’t even know, but she wondered if one of his biological parents was musically inclined. It came so easily to him. 

“Maybe.” Patrick rubbed his eyes. 

“In the meantime, I brought you something,” she popped off his bed and he turned to look. She slipped the guitar strap over her head and sat on his desk chair. She played a chord and tightened a string to tune it, then she started to play. 

“Strumming my pain with his fingers. Singing my life with his words. Killing me softly with his song. Killing me softly...with his song. Telling my whole life, with his words. Killing me softly...with his song...” 

Patrick perked up as she sang, he liked the sound of her voice. 

“Here,” she handed him the guitar. “You can still strum with three fingers.” 

Remy moved Patrick’s hand on the fretboard, showing him a couple of chords. 

“G...C...G...C...G...C...C...D...C...G...” She patiently repeated. 

He knit his eyebrows together and concentrated, the tip of his tongue protruded from his lips a little. Half an hour later, they were through their second round of _ Love Me Do _ and Patrick was finally smiling again. 

They didn’t hear Clint knocking on the open door to get their attention. 

“If you’re done with your jam session in here,” he grinned, his heart soaring to see Patrick looking like his old self again. “Dinner’s on the table.” 

They nodded at him and he left. 

“You’re a great teacher, Remy,” Patrick reluctantly put the guitar down. 

“It’s easy when I have a good student. Do you want to hang onto her for me? Until you get one of your own?” She indicated the guitar with her chin. 

Patrick’s eyes went over glossy. “You mean it?” 

She nodded. “I know my Sugar Magnolia will be taken care of.” 

“Who?” 

“That’s her name, Sugar Magnolia,” Remy traced her finger over a Grateful Dead sticker on the body of the guitar. “Treat her like a lady. And for God’s sake Patrick – please learn more songs than just _ Wonderwall _, ok?” 

They laughed and left his bedroom. 

“Well you look awfully chipper, Pat,” Uncle Artie said. 

Patrick smiled and looked at Remy, who winked at him. 

After dinner, Asher and Patrick went back to his room to read comics, Remy helped with the dishes. 

“Thank you,” Marcy nudged her hip against her niece’s while they stood side by side at the sink. Remy smiled and dried the plates. “Patrick has had a big storm cloud over his head for days and days.” 

“From one musician to another, my heart broke when I found out he hurt himself. I would go nuts if I couldn’t play,” Remy replied. 

“You should think about being a music teacher,” Marcy told her. 

Remy shrugged. “Patrick loves music, he’s easy to teach. I dunno about teaching kids who aren’t as enthused about it as he is.” 

Her aunt’s words rattled around in her brain for a while. Teaching music wasn’t her dream job but it would definitely be a way to share her passion with kids like Patrick. The idea had merit. 

The boys were called back out to the living room to watch the beginning of the Jay’s game at 7:05. Marcy laid out some light snacks and drinks but Remy was staying in the kitchen, looking more than a little anxious about something. 

Marcy tilted her head at her niece and waved her towards the patio door so they could have some privacy to talk. 

“What’s wrong, sweetie?” Marcy held her hand out and Remy took it. Marcy gasped to feel her trembling. 

“Can I tell you something Aunt Marcy? And _ if _ I tell you...promise not to tell my dad?” Remy’s face was paler than usual and her voice was barely audible. 

“You can tell me anything and it stays right here,” Marcy gestured her hand back and forth between them.

Remy nodded her head and looked away. Squeezing her eyes shut and exhaling deeply, she spoke. 

“I’m gay.” 

Marcy’s eyes widened, not entirely surprised but unsure of how to best process the information. She finally smiled and pulled Remy in for a hug. 

“Thank you for trusting me with that. I love you; this changes nothing.” 

Remy’s breathing stuttered and she let herself cry in her aunt’s arms. 

“My girlfriend and I broke up. I miss her so much,” she cried. 

Marcy tsked and pet her hair, rocking her the way she used to rock Patrick after he’d had a fit. 

Back in the living room Clint handed Artie a second beer. Asher and Patrick were too engrossed in the game to hear what their fathers were saying. 

“Where did the girls get off to?” He asked. 

“Oh, they’re talking on the porch. Remy looks upset – is something going on?” Clint’s protective uncle radar went off. 

Artie sipped his beer and didn’t reply. 

“There’s not some teenaged boy I have to run over with my truck, is there?” he joked. 

Artie scoffed. “Nope. No boy, anyway.” 

Clint put his bottle down. “Um...does that mean what it sounds like it means?” 

His brother-in-law nodded. “Yeah. I heard her on the phone – seemed like a messy break-up. She thinks I don’t know but I’ve always known, I guess. I just don’t know how to tell her that it makes no difference. She’s my little girl; as long as she’s happy I don’t care who she dates.” 

Clint put a hand on Artie’s shoulder. “Just tell her. Tell her that this girl didn’t deserve her and see what she says.” 

“This would be so much easier if Emily was alive,” Artie said as he cleared his throat. His wife had passed away from a blood clot in her lung a few months before Patrick’s adoption went through. 

“Buddy, you’re doing great. You’ve been a rock for the kids. Anything Marce and I can do for you, you just ask.” 

Any reply Artie would have made was overpowered by Patrick and Asher shouting at the TV – Alomar had flipped a double play, getting the birds out of a very tense inning. It was getting late and Asher wanted to see the end of the game, so Artie let him spend the night. He and Remy needed to have a talk that would be much easier to have without a 14-year-old boy in the house. 

Marcy hugged her niece extra tight and whispered in her ear. 

“Call me if you need to talk, ok? Promise?” 

Remy smiled, “Yeah, I promise.” 

“Ash, you behave yourself or Uncle Clint is gonna knock you upside the head, understand?” Artie teased. 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Night Pops,” Asher replied, not looking away from the TV. 

They quietly celebrated a win after Marcy went to read in bed. Clint told the boys not to stay up too late and he went to the bedroom. 

“Good game?” She asked, looking up from her book. 

“Yeah, not bad.” 

He got dressed for bed and pulled the sheets up to his chest. 

“Marce?” 

“Hmm?” 

“Artie told me something...about Remy. And I think she might have been telling you the same information tonight.” 

Marcy marked her page with her thumb and looked at her husband. 

“I’m not going to betray a confidence,” she said. 

“I’m not asking you to. I won’t either,” he assured her. 

“But everything’s alright?” Marcy raised an eyebrow. 

“Of course. He was going to bring it up when they got home.” 

“Good,” she sighed, relieved. “Thank god.” 

“Is she ok?” 

“Mm. She will be.” 

The room went quiet and she was about to go back to reading her book when she paused. 

“Clint?” 

“Yep?” 

“If Patrick -” 

Her husband put his hand on her leg. 

“Patrick’s our son, we love him. Full stop. No further discussion necessary.” 

She smiled and put her bookmark in the page. Settling down next to her husband she kissed his shoulder. 

“You’re incredibly sexy when you talk like that, you know.” 

He grinned. “Oh, am I?” 

He rolled to his opposite side and pulled his wife into his chest. 


	6. The Fist Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint gets phone call that parents of teenagers dread getting: Patrick got into a fight at school.

It was a busier than normal day at the office when Clint’s assistant buzzed him on his desk phone, interrupting a meeting with a newer client. 

“You have a phone call,” she said with an edge in her voice.

“Cathy, I’m with somebody,” he replied, politely but confused. It was highly unusual for her to interrupt. A few seconds later, she knocked on the door and waved him over. He excused himself and she spoke in a hushed voice.

“It’s um, it’s Patrick’s school.”

Immediately thinking the worst, his face dropped.

“Is he hurt?!” He spoke a little louder than he’d planned. Cathy bit her lower lip and eyed Clint’s client over his shoulder.

“Well um...it’s the principal, not the nurse. So...”

“Oh. Oh,  _ great _ .” Clint ran his hand from his forehead back into his hair. He nodded his thanks and returned to his desk.

“Excuse me, Bill. I have to take this call. It’s my son’s school,” he said as he answered the call held in park.

“Clint Brewer,” he said, trying to sound calm.

“Hi, Mr. Brewer. This is Dr. Allison Murphy, the principal from Hudson Academy.”

“How can I help you, Dr. Murphy?” His blood pressure was pounding in his ears.

“I’m here in my office with my friend, Patrick. I don’t know all of the details but he was in a fight today. Now, he’s ok – he and the other boy are a little banged up but nothing I thought was worth calling the police over.”

_ The police?! _

“ So I’m going to ask you to come pick him up and unfortunately he’s suspended until Monday,” her voice was calm and even, a consummate professional. It was evident by her demeanor that this was a phone call she’d made a hundred times over the course of her career as a school administrator.

Clint never expected to be on the receiving end of such a call. He exhaled deeply and cleared his throat after agreeing to be there as soon as possible. Hanging up the phone, he raised his eyes to his client, who held up both hands.

“It’s your kid, Clint. Don’t worry about it, we can reschedule this for next week,” he stood up from the leather club chair opposite Clint’s desk.

“I’m really sorry,” Clint hastily put some papers in his briefcase, nearly closing his tie in it. He pushed his sleeves into his suit jacket.

“How old’s your boy?” He motioned towards a framed photo of all three Brewers on his desk. The picture was from the cruise they’d taken for Marcy’s 40 th birthday the previous spring.

“He’s fourteen. This is totally out of character for him. He’s an athlete, a really good student. Just a good kid.”

Bill chuckled and nodded knowingly. “I’ve got five of them, trust me – this is not a problem”

“Five?” Clint said, surprised.

“Four boys and a girl,” He nodded. “They’re all out of school, doing great now but I’ve gotten more calls from school principals than I can count.”

They shook hands and Clint followed him out the door.

He drove over to the school, fuming and marched into the main office.

“Hi, um, I’m Patrick’s father, Clint Brewer. I’m here to pick him up.”

“Sure. Just one second,” the secretary held up a finger with a smile and stood up from her chair. She peeked her head around a corner and called Patrick over.

Clint was level-headed enough not to start yelling right away, but his heart sank when Patrick appeared. His cheek was bruised, his lip was split and his shirt was torn. His tie was undone, hanging around his neck. 

“My god Patrick – what happened?!” He groaned.

“Please sign here, Mr. Brewer,” the school secretary handed Clint a piece of paper explaining that Patrick had violated the school honor code and he was suspended for three days. 

“Is the other kid ok?” Patrick nodded, avoiding eye contact. 

“They’re both suspended,” the secretary informed him. He sighed and quickly signed his name.

Patrick followed him out to the car. They sat quietly a moment before Clint started the engine. Patrick stared out the window, chewing on his thumbnail.

“We’re going to talk about this when Mom gets home,” he finally said. They rode home in silence.

As soon as the car was in the driveway. Patrick hopped out and raced into the house. He dropped his backpack to the kitchen floor and closed himself up in the piano room, banging on the keys with tears rolling down both cheeks until his fingers ached.

Clint called Marcy at the school where she was teaching and filled her in.

“He -  _ what?!” _ She shrieked into the phone.

“You heard me,” he repeated himself. “I haven’t asked him about it yet. I’m waiting for you.”

“This just isn’t like him,” Marcy sighed.

“No, it isn’t. I don’t know what to do,  Marce . You – you don’t think it’s drugs, do you?”

“Drugs? Patrick? No. No, I don’t think so...he’s been acting fine,” she said a prayer to herself that it was something else,  _ anything _ else.

They hung up and he sat at the kitchen table with his hands folded until he heard Marcy’s car pull up. She tossed her purse and keys to the floor next to the side door.

“Clint?” She  called .

“In here,” he got up and met her in the mud room where they had a whispered conversation. They agreed that nothing was going to be gained by overreacting; they had to hear him out. 

“What the hell happened?” Marcy asked, bewildered.

“I have no idea. He hasn’t breathed a word about it to me,” Clint replied. “Seriously, not a single word.”

“Is he all...” she waved her hands around her head.

Clint nodded and made his hand teeter-totter back and forth. “He looks like he’s been in a fight.”

She grimaced, not wanting to see her son all beaten up. They discussed what to do about punishing him, no video games or TV, for certain. Marcy added that she expected him to double his household chores for the time being. Before he was allowed to return to school, he had to write an essay of apology to the principal for the fight. Clint squeezed her shoulders with both hands before they called their son’s name, asking him to come into the kitchen.

The piano room door opened and Patrick came out barefoot with his hands deep in his pockets, his eyes fixed on the floor. He sank into his usual seat at the table across from his mother.

“Start talking, Patrick.” Clint crossed his arms.

“There’s nothing to say,” Patrick replied, his voice was a harsh rasp.

“There’s  _ plenty _ to say,” Marcy spoke sternly. “You were in a fight at school and you need to tell us why.” Patrick exhaled sharply moaning because his ribs ached.

“Nic  Pandis was making fun of me,” he finally said.

Clint and Marcy looked at each other. They knew that boy seemed to be involved whenever there was a problem; it had been that way since Patrick was in third grade.

“How’d I guess that little shithead would be involved in this?” Clint sat back in his chair.

Marcy frowned at him and patted his arm. “Patrick, you can’t hit people. We won’t stand for that.”

“Why didn’t you ignore him? We’ve raised you better than that,” Clint spoke, struggling not to yell.

Patrick’s face turned red and his shoulders sank down. He slouched in his chair and sighed.

“He was making fun of me for being adopted.” His words hung in the air. His parents looked at each other and back at him.

“I  _ know _ I should have ignored him but he just wouldn’t stop. He kept hounding me and hounding me. Saying stuff like you’re not my real parents and asking where my real parents are and why they didn’t want me.” The longer he spoke, the redder his face became. He was trying to hold the tears back and was failing.

Marcy swept around the table and wrapped Patrick in her arms.

“Oh, baby.” She kissed his hair and rubbed his back while she held him.

“He said my mother was probably a teenaged drug addict,” Patrick cried. “I tried ignoring him, Mama. He wouldn’t stop.” He clung to her arm, holding on so tight, he might have left a bruise.

Clint clenched his fists and stood up, adding his own arms to hug Patrick as he cried harder.

“He said I was like a stray dog you found at the pound. And that you’re not my ‘real’ family,” he choked on the words.

“ Shhh , you know that’s not true My Sweet Boy...” Marcy cradled the back of his head and pulled it down to her shoulder. She kissed his cheek and wiped his tears away.

When Patrick calmed down, Clint stepped back first; he got him a glass of water.

“Mama?” Patrick looked up at her with his amber eyes swirling with self-doubt. “What happened to my biological parents?”

She swallowed and looked at Clint.

“I’ll be right back,” she said.

“Wait! Mom!” Patrick looked panicked.

“It’s ok, Paddy. Give her a minute.”

Marcy’s chest felt tight when she opened her bureau drawer and found the envelope holding the newspaper article that she’d printed out years ago. She knew he was eventually going to ask these questions and was glad to be prepared. However, she was afraid of what his reaction would be when he learned the truth. He was already upset, she hoped this wouldn’t make it worse.

She slid the envelope across the table to Patrick and perched on Clint’s knee, he put his arms around her waist. They watched Patrick unfold the piece of paper and Clint squeezed her hand, placing a soft kiss on her arm.

Patrick didn’t feel anything in particular except sorry that the couple with a young child had died tragically. Halfway through the second read through, he realized that  _ he _ was the young child the article mentioned. It didn’t feel like he was reading about people he knew or could be related to. He looked back up at his parents and sat there silently.

Marcy and Clint both wanted to speak to him but they waited for him speak first.

“They wanted me,” Patrick concluded, sniffling.

A choked sob escaped Marcy’s throat and she put both of her hands over her heart as she spoke.

“Yes, they did baby. And I’m sure they loved you, very much.”

Patrick squinted his eyes and tilted his head, trying to force himself to feel something. 

“I can’t remember them.” He looked down at the article again, reading to himself. He wiped his eyes on the back of his hand, then looked back up again.

“I’m never going to drive fast. I promise. Never, ever,” he said resolutely. He folded the article in half and put it back in the envelope. 

“Are you alright?” Clint caught his son’s eyes.

Patrick nodded. “I’m sorry I disappointed you guys. I love you both.”

“We love you too, boy,” Clint gave him a small smile.

“More than life itself,” Marcy said, sniffling. “We might not have  _ had _ you, but we  _ have _ you. We’ll always be here for you, Patrick.”

His eyebrows came together. “You guys are my parents. I don’t remember these people. I don’t know them,” Patrick said stabbing his pointer finger at the envelope. 

“We’re very proud to be your parents, Patrick,” Clint smiled at him. “But no more fighting. Deal?”

Patrick nodded and apologized again. Marcy told him to go take a shower and set the table. Dinner was simple, quiet. Patrick cleared the table and did the dishes without being asked. He unplugged his video game consoles in his bedroom, brought them into the kitchen and retrieved his backpack. He asked Marcy if it was okay to call a friend from each of his classes that he’d missed to find out about homework.

She smiled and shook her head at him. “You’re a very difficult child to punish, did you know that?”

He gave her a half-grin and kissed her on the cheek. “Love you, Mom.”

“Love you more, my Patrick.” She cupped his face and wrinkled her nose at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: a mean boy named Nic Pandis told me that Santa wasn't real in the third grade. So I made him the jerk that Patrick punched.


	7. Boy Meets Girl

“Good hustle, guys, good hustle!” Coach Powers clapped from the dugout. “Brewer, nice job!”

Patrick rested his palms on his knees, catching his breath. He tossed the ball to his teammate and dug the toe of his cleat into the grassy outfield. The score was close and the play Patrick had just made prevented the visiting team from taking the lead.

After winning the Friday night game, the shortstop and outfielders of the Hudson Academy Wildcats varsity baseball team were laughing and celebrating in the locker room, chugging Gatorade. Patrick was wearing fresh boxers and had a towel slung low on his hips. He roughly combed his fingers through his wet curls, letting them air dry.

“Brewer, your girlfriend was there again today,” Caleb Lhowe teased him.

Patrick grinned and rolled his eyes. “Shut up, man.”

“No, I saw her too! That girl with the long, red hair!” Frankie Riccardi pointed at him.

“She’s in love with Brewer!”

Patrick gave him a playful shove on the shoulder. “She is not.”

“You should ask her out though, Brewski. She’s cute!” Jamal Robinson added.

Patrick pulled his jeans on and draped the towel around his neck. “She’s ok, I guess.”

“You don’t think she’ll go out with you! You’re afraid!” Caleb needled him.

Jamal and Frankie began clucking at him like chickens. Patrick waved them off and when they didn’t stop, he laughed and flashed his middle fingers at them both.

“Dude, just ask her out! You know you want to!” Jamal laughed and threw his empty bottle of Gatorade at Patrick.

“Okay, okay – if she’s still there when we walk out, I’ll go talk to her,” Patrick conceded. He hadn’t had a girlfriend in a while; it had been six or seven months since he and Janine had stopped seeing each other. It might be nice to have someone new to talk to. 

“OooOOOooh! That’s MY BOY!” Frankie shouted while pumping his fist!.

“Brewski and the ginger hottie Raquel!”

“It’s Rachel,” Patrick corrected him.

“Ha! But you haven’t been paying attention to her at all,” Caleb teased.

“Aren’t you jokers ready to go home yet?” Mr. Koenig, their English teacher and pitching coach came into the locker room. 

The boys finished getting dressed and they grabbed their equipment bags and backpacks before walking out of the locker room. Caleb and Patrick were talking about the team they were facing the following game when Frankie came up behind Patrick and grabbed his shoulders.

“Dude! Look! She’s there!”

Patrick looked up and Rachel was in fact standing with one of her friends near the gate that they had to pass through to get to their cars. She turned her head at just the right time and they saw each other. She smiled with wide, round eyes that sparkled. He liked her smile and realized that he’d stopped walking. 

“The thunderbolt!” Frankie shook his fist in the air. “_Il culpo di fulmine!_” He quoted his favorite movie, The Godfather, Part II.

Patrick broke eye contact first and caught up to his friends. They said goodnight and went to their cars, all but abandoning Patrick with Rachel and her friend.

“Hi. I’m Patrick,” he held out his hand.

“Yeah, I know. Rachel, hi.” She shook his hand and they stared at each other again, smiling awkwardly. 

“Rae, I’ll see you tomorrow,” her friend Chelsea said, breaking between them to give her a hug. 

“Bye Chels,” Rachel winked at her and the girls shared an excited look.

“You um, you’re a baseball fan, huh?” Patrick asked shyly.

“Not particularly. But that outfielder on your team is really cute,” she flirted.

Patrick laughed and his cheeks went slightly pink.

“Left field or right?” He smirked and flirted back.

“Mm, no the centerfielder,” Rachel bit her lip and took a daring step closer to him.

“Can’t be him,” Patrick shook his head, his curls bounced with the movement. 

“And why not?” Rachel looked down for a moment and then back up at him.

“Well, I play centerfield,” he said simply.

“Oh, right. My bad. You’re hideous.” She put a hand on her hip and he laughed again.

They talked for a little longer and he liked her more and more by the minute. She was smart and had a sarcastic, fast sense of humor. Having lost track of time, Patrick’s pager went off on his hip and he yelped in surprise.

“Jumpy, aren’t you?” Rachel teased.

Patrick looked at the screen of his pager and put it back in his pocket. He looked a little embarrassed and Rachel raised an eyebrow.

“Girlfriend? Wife?” She teased.

“My wife, yes, actually,” Patrick replied. “We’ve been out here for a while. I guess my mom is worried or whatever.”

“Do you have a curfew?” She asked. Patrick shook his head.

“No. You?” 

She didn’t have to be home at any particular time either. She unzipped her bag and handed him a Seiko phone in an orange rubber case, offering to let him use it.

“Um...”

“Patrick, be a good boy. Call your mom. Tell her you’re going on a date with an adorable girl you just met and you’ll be home later.” One side of her lips curled upward in a grin.

“Am I?” He took the phone from her with a nod and paused before he dialed his home number. “This is a very convenient way of getting my phone number.”

Rachel winked. “Yeah. I guess my Master Plan is working, huh?”

He chuckled and dialed the number. He didn’t step away so Rachel couldn’t hear him talking.

“Hey Ma. Yeah, sorry – I lost track of time. Listen, um, I’m gonna be home later. I’m going out -”

“On a date,” Rachel whispered.

“On a date,” he repeated. “Yeah Mom. Ok. I will. Love you too.” He pressed the red End button and handed Rachel her phone back.

“So where are we going?” She stepped in next to him, adjusting her purse strap across her chest. 

“Dunno. Where can I meet you?” He felt her hand brush against his. His heart jerked in his chest and he let his pinky finger wrap around hers.

“Meet me?” Rachel turned and gestured to the parking lot; it was empty except for Patrick’s silver Nissan.

“Wow, so you actually do have a Master Plan?” He pouted out his lower lip, impressed.

“If you were a jerk, I would have just called my brother for a ride home,” she shrugged a shoulder.

She wiggled her pinky free of his and before Patrick knew it, her other fingers were woven with his and they were walking towards his car. Patrick unlocked the passenger door and opened it for her, then dropped is equipment bag into the trunk before taking his place in the driver’s seat. 

“Where to?” He started the car and didn’t hesitate before slipping his hand into hers again.

They ended up at a casual, sports-themed, chain restaurant and conversed easily over shared nachos and chicken fingers. 

Patrick liked making Rachel laugh. He liked the way her eyes got squinty and she tossed her hair over her shoulder. He liked the feeling of her hand on top of his while they sat across from each other at the table. The connection was almost instant; like they’d been friends for ages.

The server brought the check and Rachel grabbed it.

“This is on me,” she fished around in her bag for her wallet.

“I can’t let you do that,” Patrick pulled his wallet out of his pocket.

“I’m not that kind of girl, Patrick. You don’t have to pay just because you're the guy.”

“Let me go half with you, then.”

She grinned and nodded. They paid _exactly_ half each and went back out to Patrick’s car holding hands. He drove her home and they talked in the car for another half hour until someone flashed the porch lights. Rachel laughed. 

“That’d be my brother, Mark,” she told him. “He’s sort of protective.”

“I had a great time tonight,” Patrick relaxed his head against the back of his seat.

“Me too. Maybe next time you can introduce me to that hot outfielder on your team,” she smirked. The eye contact was deadly. He knew this should be where he kissed her goodnight but something kept him practically glued to his side of the car. Rachel leaned across the center console and lightly pressed her lips to his. She started to pull away but he gently pulled her back in with his fingers at the back of her neck.

It was a perfectly nice kiss. Her lips were soft and she only wore a lightly flavored gloss. He didn’t feel any special sparks, no fireworks or butterflies, but that stuff only happened in the movies. He liked being around this girl and he felt sort of content with that already. He wasn’t usually comfortable around new people so quickly and that had to mean something 

“What are you doing tomorrow?” She asked when they came apart. “_Pirates of the Caribbean_ came out on DVD this week - do you want to rent it and maybe watch it with me?” 

She bit her lip again. The indications of the phrase 'rent it and _maybe_ watch it' weren’t lost on him.

“Um, I can’t actually,” Patrick said. He watched her visually deflate.

“Oh. Um, okay.”

“No! I’d like to, really. I’d never pass up an opportunity to see Johnny Depp in eyeliner. But I’m babysitting my cousin Gracie’s daughter tomorrow night. Otherwise…”

She did the adorable nose-wrinkle thing. “You’re babysitting?”

Patrick blushed. “Yeah. I like kids and Gracie pays well. I’m saving up for a new guitar; works out for everybody.”

“He plays guitar, huh?” She smirked.

Patrick nodded. “He does, indeed. Piano, too.” He tilted his head as a devilish kind of expression crept across his face. “What?”

Rachel blinked her eyes twice. “Nothing. I was just thinking that he must have some very…gifted fingers, that’s all.”

His jaw went slack and he laughed with his eyes closed. This girl was definitely different. She was bold, but in a sexy, flirty way rather than a gross, trying too hard way. His cheeks got redder and he combed his fingers through her hair, pulling her in for another kiss.

“How about you come over and watch Maisie with me? I’ll call my cousin in the morning to make sure it’s ok.” He proposed. It was not an ideal second date but he didn’t want to miss an opportunity to see her.

“Sure. I’ll stop at Rose Video on the way. Should I grab a Disney movie for the munchkin?” 

“Oh believe me, she has plenty of those. Besides I try to do stuff with her instead of stick her in front of the TV.”

“And do you have any activities planned for tomorrow?”

“Cloud dough. It’s just cornstarch, hair conditioner and food coloring. It makes a mess but Maisie likes it.”

“Wow, so you’re like, a legit babysitter, huh? Arts and crafts and stuff,” she smiled so sweetly at him, his chest swelled up.

This time when Rachel kissed him, he felt the tip of her tongue touch his lower lip. Even then, the butterflies refused to flutter in his stomach. It only furthered his conviction that rom coms were bullshit. This really pretty, smart, funny and flirty girl was into him. Butterflies were not required. 

“I guess there’s only one thing left to do then,” Rachel said. Patrick tilted his head again. She took his hand and flipped it palm up. Then reached into her purse for a pen and wrote her number on his skin.

“Call me and give me your cousin’s address,” she said. “You should have your girlfriend’s phone number. Just don’t do anything psycho like get it tattooed there.” Her flirty banter game was on point.

“My girlfriend?” Patrick faked a wide-eyed expression of awe.

“Good night Patrick.” She kissed him one more time and got out of the car before he replied. He watched her walk into the house and they waved at each other before she pushed the door closed behind her. 

After that, Rachel was a constant. She and Patrick were always together; a matched pair. She rarely missed a baseball game and when the season ended, they were both hired at Rose Video so they could spend time together goofing around, watching movies and get paid for it. Things were progressing slowly, physically; Rachel was a virgin and declared herself ‘not ready'. Patrick assured her that was fine by him. He didn’t tell her he wasn’t terribly into sex, not that he would have said no if she wanted to. 

He tried teaching her how to play the guitar but she was adorably hopeless in that department. She had a better than average singing voice and started performing at the open mic nights Patrick arranged with his friends. He’d smile proudly at her while he accompanied her on his guitar and sometimes sang backup vocals. 

Eight months later, on prom night as the cliché goes, they got a hotel room. Technically, his cousin Asher rented the room since he was of age and had a credit card, but Patrick paid him back in full and then some.

She was shaking like a leaf when he unzipped her dress. He reassured her that he wasn’t going to be disappointed if she changed her mind; he wanted her to be comfortable and ready. Rachel thanked him and felt so completely lucky to have a boyfriend who loved her so much. So many of her girlfriends expressed regrets about their first time; she knew it'dbe perfect with Patrick.

She confessed that she was nervous even though they’d technically seen each other naked before, albeit not completely naked. She said that virginity was a concept created by men as a means of oppressing women and she wasn’t going to continue buying into it. All the feminist bravada in the world wasn’t going to convince him. He knew her well enough: she was really nervous.

It was a little awkward, a little painful and not exactly a transcendent experience when the deed was done. Patrick's mouth and talented fingers felt incredible as usual but Rachel couldn't help but feel like it was her inexperience that made the actual sex less than stellar. Whatever. It was bound to get better. She rolled to her side in that hotel bed and cuddled into him, drawing little r+p's on his chest with her pointer finger. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head. She'd opted not to get an updo like the other girls; just a fresh blowout. Rachel was not like the other girls.

“I love you,” Patrick said. He’d probably said it a hundred times already but in that moment, he truly, truly meant it.

"Not as much as I love you," Rachel said sweetly.

"Are you ok? Do you need something?"

"Mm. Just you, Patrick. Just you."

He liked having her in his arms. Her silky, marzipan-scented skin fully pressed against him. He twirled her long hair around his fingers. Deep in the back of his mind he wondered what was wrong with him. He had a beautiful, sexy woman who he loved naked in a bed with him, shouldn't he be contented? Shouldn't he feel whole? And frankly, shouldn't he be immediately hard when she started doing that thing with her hand again? 

He pushed those doubts back into the box he stored them in and locked it up before rolling back on top of Rachel and kissing her. After a bit of foreplay, he was rolling another condom down his length and he watched her bite her lip when he pushed inside her for the second time.

The second time was better for her. Again, he made sure to go slow and he knew exactly how to get her off from months of third-base practice. Once she finished, he pretended to come and hid the empty condom from her when he got up to throw it away.

"I love you, Patrick." She said as he got back between the sheets at her side.

"Me too, babe. Love you."


	8. Trouble in Paradise

They were together a for a year before Rachel knew that Patrick was adopted. She was at the Brewer house for dinner when she asked Marcy to see some baby pictures of Patrick as a loving way to tease him and make him blush. 

“Oh, you’ve seen those, Rachel,” Marcy winked at her. 

“No, I mean the _baby_ baby pictures of him! He must have been such a squishy little baby!” She poked her finger into his side. 

It was meant to be cute; Patrick knew that. That didn’t mean he didn’t find it entirely irritating. 

“Rachel -” he grit his teeth. 

“Well, we don’t have any pictures of him before he came to live with us but Clint’s camera was practically attached to his hand when Patrick was little. Haven't you seen the pictures from his adoption ceremony? Oh, he was so proud of that blue bowtie!” 

The confused look on Rachel’s face made Marcy pause. One glimpse at Patrick told her that he hadn’t told Rachel he was adopted. He didn’t intentionally conceal it; it just wasn’t the first thing he told people. Eventually, it got weird to bring it up organically and so he didn’t. 

“You’re...oh. You never told me,” Rachel said, trying to hide the hurt in her voice. 

He shrugged it off. “I don’t really think about it.” 

She smiled at him and took his hand. From that night on, Patrick thought there was something odd in the way she looked at him and he didn’t like it. 

A year later they were in the living room of her new apartment, celebrating her new-found independence and privacy they’d gained. 

Rachel moaned hard and he felt her thighs start to shake. She gasped and whimpered into his mouth. His fingers explored her delicate wetness and he teased at her clit with his thumb. 

“You gonna cum for me?” He kissed her hard. 

“Mm...mmhmm...” She squeezed her eyes shut. 

He bit his lip and pressed two fingertips to her tight bundle of nerves and watched her face flush. Rachel’s moans quieted and her voice caught in her throat, only allowing sharp, staccato noises to escape. 

The movie they’d been watching was still playing, but completely forgotten. 

She had one bare, freshly-shaven leg hitched up over his hip. He kissed her feverishly while continuing to massage his fingers into her core. She rocked her hips against him while dragging her short nails up and down his muscular bicep. 

“Mm...oh...mmm...” 

One pink nipple peaked out of her white lace bra as she started to quake with orgasm. All of her little grunts and gasps urged Patrick on; she was so close. He liked the beautiful pink that colored her pale cheeks, he liked the way she trembled and moaned his name. 

“Patrick...mm..._ Patrick _...” 

Her body tensed up and started to spasm as he brought her over the edge. She kissed him, her tongue lapping wildly against his through at least three intense aftershocks. 

“That’s my girl,” he purred into her neck as she came down. “So hot, baby.” 

She giggled and sighed when he slipped his hand out of her teal, cotton panties. He squeezed her ass gently, pulling her flush and tight to his chest. Letting the kiss deepen, she moved her hand to the front of his boxers and paused, more than slightly disappointed. 

“Oh,” she allowed her regret to seep through in her tone. “Are you...okay?” 

“Hm? Oh – um –it's been a long day, Rae. I guess I’m tired,” he said as he moved her hand away from his completely uncooperative, disinterested, flaccid penis. 

He got up from the futon and padded over to her fridge for a bottle of water. She leaned up on her elbow, watching him. Sure, he was tired. Of course he was. It had taken the better part of the previous two days to move all of her stuff into her new apartment. But that didn’t explain the week before. 

“Yeah. I get it. What about last week, though?” She accepted the bottle from him and cracked the seal open. 

“Huh? You had your period last week...” He cuddled in next to her and kissed her shoulder. 

“I did, but I still could’ve blown you,” she said frankly. 

The bluntness of the way she'd spoken struck him funny, so he laughed. The hurt expression on her face made him immediately regret laughing. 

“Hey, it was _ funny _, I’m sorry!” He kissed her and held her close. 

“Sometimes I feel like you aren’t attracted to me anymore,” she said softly. It could happen. They’d been together for over two years, maybe the magic was fading for him. 

“Hey, look at me,” he turned her to face him with a finger on her chin. “I love you. You’re beautiful. I don’t know why this happens to me sometimes, I’m just stressed out with school and work and stuff. It’s not a reflection on you.” His voice was low and soft and so sincere she could have cried. 

“I love you, too. Sorry – I just -” 

“No, I’m sorry, Rae. Maybe I need some Viagra or something,” he joked. She popped an eyebrow at him. 

“That could be fun,” she smiled at last. “Are you still staying over tonight?” 

He grinned at her. “Listen, I didn’t drag that giant mattress up three flights of stairs by myself not to sleep on it,” he teased. 

Moving Rachel into her apartment coincided with the week before mid-terms and they both needed to study. As a public history major, Rachel was working on a family tree for her genealogy class. It got her thinking about Patrick’s own history and while they studied, she started nagging at him about his birth parents. 

“But don’t you want to know?” She asked, poking him with the capped end of her pen. 

“No. I don’t think about it.” He didn’t look up from his textbook. 

“But Patrick, they’re your parents.” 

“My parents are my parents.” He reached for his drink. 

“I know but, like, not really.” 

“Yes, _really_. They’re my parents, Rachel. What do you want me to say?” This line of questioning was really getting on his nerves, it always did. 

“I don’t understand how you’re not curious. The curiosity would be killing me.” She moved her notebook and laptop out of the way and knelt up on the futon. 

“Well, we’re different people Rachel. I don’t know what to tell you. I’ve been a Brewer longer than I was ever a...a...” For the first time, he looked up, his face screwed up as he searched his memory. 

“You don’t even know your last name, Patrick! It’s so bizarre to me you don’t want to know. You’re the most inquisitive person I know, yet the most basic information about yourself, you don’t want. That doesn’t make any sense.” 

“I do know it, I just forgot it.” Patrick gave up searching his brain but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember what his last name was before he was adopted. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d thought about the couple from the article his mother had shown him. 

“Why don’t you want to know who your biological parents are?” 

“Why are you making this a thing? Why does it have to be a thing? My parents are my parents, Rachel.” 

“Yeah but god, if I found out I was adopted -” 

“You’re _ not _adopted. You don’t know what it’s like. You don’t live inside my head. Marcy and Clint Brewer are my parents. That’s all I’ve ever known and all I need to know. Why are you making this a thing? You never answered me; why?” 

“I just thought maybe we could find them, and write to them and, I don’t know – maybe we could invite them to the wedding.” 

“_ Wedding? _ ” Patrick spat back. Now he wanted to know when _ that _ became a thing. Sure they’d talked about getting married but he wasn’t anywhere near ready for that. 

“Rachel -” 

“Patrick – they're you’re parents.” 

“They're dead, Rachel. Ok? They’re dead. They died in a car accident when I was two. Are you happy now?” 

“Oh god. Paddy, honey...” She wore that look of pity that Patrick hated seeing on people’s faces. That look was the main reason he hated telling anyone. He didn’t want to be someone others pitied. He had a great life, a great family and didn’t appreciate being treated like he was broken and needed to be fixed. 

Patrick felt the latent anger rise up in his chest. He hated when people intimated that the Brewers weren’t actually his parents. It was more hurtful than anything else anybody could say to him. 

“There's not going to be some tear-filled reunion. There isn’t some middle-aged woman staring out the window looking at the stars every night wondering where her baby boy is. I know that’s what you’re thinking. But it’s all a fantasy in your head. Marcy and Clint Brewer are my parents; they’re the only parents I’ve ever known. They're the ones who took care of me when I was little. They support me now and _ if _I ever get married, they’re the only parents of the groom. I don’t know why you insist on pushing me.” He gathered his books, unable to focus anymore. 

“Patrick, don’t go.” She hugged her knees and tucked her hair behind her ear. 

“No, I’m going. Good-bye Rachel.” 

“Well that sounded very final,” she said feeling a little shocked. 

“Maybe it was.” 

As Patrick drove away from her building, all he could think of was how happy he was that he and Rachel were going to different colleges. Sure, when things were going well, it would have been nicer to live closer to each other, even to live together. However, one major upside to living 45 minutes apart was they wouldn’t have to worry about bumping into each other on campus after they had a fight; something that was happening more and more frequently lately. Living apart gave them enough space to cool off and miss each other. They’d always been able to work things out between them. 

The second upside to Rachel’s choice of school is that it was very close to where Remy lived. He looked at the clock and decided it wasn’t too late to just show up at her place. 

He rang the bell and Remy’s partner Jessie opened the door. 

“Hey! This is a nice surprise!” she smiled and reached out to hug him. He stepped in and let her. “You look like shit, dude. What’s going on?” 

“Rachel.” 

Jessie rolled her eyes and rubbed Patrick’s back. “Honey,” she called out to Remy. “Patrick’s here.” 

Remy was smiling until she saw her cousin. She knit her thick eyebrows together and hopped off the sofa, leaving her wine to aerate. 

“Now what?” She asked. 

“Can we not talk about it? Please? I just…I can’t.” 

Remy and Jessie shared a look and enveloped in a group hug until he started chuckling. 

“You two smell like weed,” he said finally. 

“Want some?” 

“God, yes.” 

Nicely buzzed, lounging on the floor with his back against the sofa, they were watching some French horror movie Jessie had downloaded to her laptop. They were laughing at the gore and reacting to each jump scare. Patrick felt all the tension melt away from his body with each exhale. He tilted his head back and watched the smoke swirling around near the ceiling before it dissipated. 

He didn’t notice when the man entered the apartment but he gasped and nearly leapt out of his skin at the unexpected sight of him. His heart pounded against his rib cage painfully while he tried to catch his breath. 

“Sorry, honey! I didn’t mean to scare you!” He said sweetly, crouching down to the floor and putting a warm hand on Patrick’s shoulder. 

“Eric, this is my cousin, Patrick,” Remy introduced them. “Eric’s staying in the spare room for a bit.” 

“Patrick was Remy's first music student,” Jessie said proudly, threading her fingers through her girlfriend's hair. 

“Hi, sorry man, you caught me by surprise, “ Patrick apologized and shook Eric’s hand. 

“Nice to meet you,” Eric batted his long lashes and held onto Patrick’s hand a little too long. Something about his eyes made a lump form in Patrick’s throat and his stomach began to rumble. 

Patrick cleared his throat and pulled his hand back to run it through his hair. “Be right back.” 

He got to his feet and went to the bathroom to splash some water on his face. He looked at himself in the mirror, his skin was splotchy and pink. He doused a face cloth in cold water and pressed it into his skin, willing the color to fade. He didn’t know why he’d reacted this way, nor could he explain why he didn’t want Eric to see him looking like that. 

He just didn’t. 

Once he regained some composure, he returned to the living room. Eric was sitting on the floor, next to the place Patrick had vacated earlier. Patrick’s heart sped up at the sight of Eric’s long legs crossed in front of him. He stepped over him and sat down where he’d been before. 

“Oh, P –“ Remy said. “Eric mentioned going to a bar, want to come out with us?” 

Patrick turned his head and saw Eric smirking at him. He fought to keep the blood from rushing to his face again – _ damn his pale complexion. _

“Yeah. I could go for a drink. Sounds good,” he replied, hoping he sounded casual. 

“Cool. I’m gonna go put real pants on.” Jessie swung her legs off the sofa and padded to the master bedroom. 

“Where are we going?” 

“Some new place right around the corner. I’m entirely _ over _every one of the places I usually go to. I never know which one my ex will be at and I’d rather avoid the awkwardness.” Eric replied, his hand flapping at the wrist as he spoke. 

“Bad break-up?” 

“Well, I’m sleeping on a creaky futon in a lesbian’s spare bedroom rather than on my King-sized Duxiana mattress so, yeah, not the best break-up.” 

“Hey! I didn’t have to let you stay here,” Remy laughed. 

“No but you did because you _ love _me so much. The asshole had better have all of his shit out of my place by the end of next week or I’m torching all of it.” 

“What happened with Rae this time, Patrick?” Remy got up from the sofa and carried her glass of wine over to a mirror hanging on the opposite wall. She pulled a small makeup bag from a drawer and started putting on mascara. 

“I don’t want to talk about it, Rem.” Patrick covered his face with both hands and rubbed his temples. 

“Just tell me it wasn’t the thing about transferring schools again,” she asked while tracing the wand along her lower lashes. 

“No, that ended a while ago. The business program at my school is objectively better than the one at hers. She dropped it.” Patrick replied. 

“She? Ray?” Eric said, cocking his head. 

Remy laughed. “Ray-CHEL, not RAY-mond, Eric.” 

“Hm. Surprising. Disappointing,” Eric said smirking at Patrick for a second before he stood up and cross the room towards Remy. He stood behind her and started to braid her long hair. 

“Why disappointing?” Patrick asked, lifting himself from the floor to the now-empty sofa. 

“Oh, nothing. I was all ready to flirt with you at the bar. Maybe get you to dance with me. That’s all.” Eric winked. 

Patrick’s mouth ran dry and he felt a little dizzy all of a sudden. 

“Don’t flirt with my cousin, you!” Remy playfully swatted at Eric’s arm. 

“Who’s flirting with whom?” Jessie came back out of the bedroom wearing tight jeans and a flowy peasant blouse with ankle boots. 

“This one over here,” Remy pointed her thumb at Eric over her shoulder while he finished the fishtail braid. “Wanted to flirt with that one.” She lifted her chin in Patrick’s direction. 

“Oh, you’ll have to excuse Eric, Patrick. He thinks _ everybody _ is gay.” 

“I knew _ you _ were gay when we met,” Eric teased her. 

Jessie raised a brow at him. “Um, half my head was shaved, I was wearing Docs and holding Remy’s hand. Pretty sure there was no mystery about my orientation.” 

“I’ll dance with you,” Patrick said without thinking. “I like to dance.” 

The two men shared a look that smoldered. Patrick felt heat ripple up his spine and he clenched his pelvic floor. 

_ Must be the weed. _

“Come on. Bar time.” Eric walked up to Patrick and offered his hand. Patrick exhaled and let Eric help him stand up from the sofa. He was surprised at how simultaneously soft and strong Eric’s hand was. Remy broke between them and linked her arm with Patrick’s. He didn’t see it but his cousin shot her friend a very clear “watch it” look. 

Two hours later, they were still at the bar. Patrick was feeling completely relaxed as he sipped his beer and took in the relaxed vibe, sitting next to Jessie and Remy. A song he really liked started to play and he heard Eric call his name from the semi-crowded dance floor. 

“Patrick! Come here!” Eric was waving him over with both hands above his head. 

Patrick gulped down his drink and got to his feet. 

“And where are you going?” Remy asked. 

“I’m gonna dance with your friend,” Patrick said. 

As soon as he joined Eric in the middle of the group of people dancing, Jessie grinned at her partner. 

“Called it,” she said, taking a sip of her Moscow Mule. 

“Called what? They're just dancing.” Remy finished her gin and tonic. 

Jessie shook her head and pulled Remy in for a slow, lingering kiss. “And you and I are _ just _ roommates, honey.” 

Patrick closed his eyes and danced while Eric kept enough distance between their bodies to not impede upon his space. Music was always where Patrick went to hide and escape. The constant thrumming of the bassline coming out of the speakers gave him comfort and it chased away everything that had been stressing him out. 

The song changed and Patrick felt Eric’s hand tentatively take hold of his waist. Before he could react, Eric had pulled him in and their legs were starting to slot together. Patrick’s lips parted and his pupils opened wide. Rather than flee, which is what his body was ordering at him to do, Patrick leaned in. He put one arm around Eric’s neck and went with it; both of their bodies grinding against each other in time to the music. 

“This is okay?” Eric said loudly enough in Patrick’s ear for him to hear. 

“Yeah,” Patrick replied and tested the waters by rolling his hips and pulling Eric in closer. He could smell Eric’s sweaty skin, a heady, musky scent that was awakening some long-forgotten hormonal urges in Patrick that he couldn’t fully process (nor did he want to). 

Before the song ended, Patrick watched Eric wet his lips with his tongue and he started to lean in for a kiss. Patrick went into a desperate fight-or-flight mindset and broke free of Eric’s grip in his waist. He forced himself away and bumped into three other people dancing nearby. 

“Sorry - I – sorry...” He rushed over to where Remy and Jessie were sitting at the bar, threw some money on the counter and ran out the door. He wiped the hot tears out of his eyes as he raced all the way back to Remy’s apartment and he didn’t feel safe until he was in the driver’s seat of his car. He gripped the steering wheel with both hands and it took a minute to register that the screaming he heard was coming from his own throat. 

Once his throat burned and he was able to swallow a full gulp of air, he fit the key into the ignition and he wiped his eyes on the neck of his shirt. His mind was a blank as he drove the short distance back to Rachel’s apartment. He rang the doorbell twice – it was after midnight; she was clearly in bed. 

Her hair was in a messy pile on top of her head and she was wearing the pajama set he’d bought her for her birthday: a royal purple tank top and shorts trimmed with black lace. 

“Oh my god, are you okay honey?” The sleepy expression vanished from her face when she saw how wrecked he appeared to be. He didn’t look drunk, just... thoroughly emotionally exhausted. 

“Rachel...” Patrick’s voice was a hoarse croak. Before he could talk himself out of it, he dropped to one knee. “Rachel, will you marry me?” 


	9. The Health Scare

“I shouldn’t have proposed.” 

Patrick’s knee bounced with nerves and he looked down at his hands folded in his lap. 

“Ok,” she said, trying to engage him in eye contact. 

“I wasn’t ready then and three years later, I’m still not ready.” 

“Uh-huh. So, why did you propose?” 

Patrick rolled his lips inward. How honest was too honest? 

“I was scared.” 

“Scared of what?” She tapped her pen against her lips. 

“Scared of...just scared.” 

“Patrick. After six months, you know I’m not going to let you get away with that.” His therapist crossed one leg over the other and shifted in her chair. She looked at him over the top of her glasses. 

“Of breaking up, I guess. I could feel it – we were headed that way and I didn’t want that?” 

“But you guys did break up. Or are you back together again?” She wrote something down on her notepad. 

Patrick sighed and slouched back in the chair. “Yeah. We broke up. Twice. It...it’s a big mess.” 

“Care to elaborate?” She leaned forward and encouraged him to speak. 

“I feel like I let everybody down.” Patrick became very interested in a stain on the area rug, 

“Talk about ‘letting everybody down’.” There really was no end to this woman’s patience. She was definitely in the right profession. 

Picking at the cuticle around his thumb nail, Patrick cleared his throat.

“Rachel wanted to get married. She deserves that. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. She’s great. She’s everything I could possibly want. My mom and dad love her, they were so excited about me getting married.” 

“Ok, firstly, from what you’ve told me about your parents – of course they were thrilled. You’re their son and they thought you were happy about getting married. So, let’s put that aside for right now. I hear you saying that Rachel deserves to have something she wants but I’m going to challenge you - doesn’t Rachel deserve to marry someone who wants to marry her? Someone who is everything _ she _ could possibly want?” 

His jaw went slack as he began to reply but no response came to mind. She continued. 

“It’s very sweet and very noble of you to want Rachel to be happy and fulfilled in life, Patrick. I have no doubt in my mind that you love her and want what’s best for her. But that being said, if she’s married to someone who doesn’t want to be married to her...how can that possibly be what’s best for her? You’ve yet to definitively say that she’s who _ you _ want to spend the rest of your life with. You're still very young to be making these decisions, why do you think you're putting so much pressure on yourself?” 

As Patrick pondered, chewing on his lower lip, wondering if he trusted the insightful woman sitting in front of him enough to disclose what actually happened the night he proposed to Rachel and all of the feelings he’d be grappling with since, his cell phone buzzed in his pocket. 

“Saved by the bell,” she smiled, seeing his concentration break. She jotted down a note, making an innocent bet with herself on how much longer it would take Patrick to disclose his latent homosexual desires. “Do you need to get that?” 

“Let me just see who it is,” Patrick frowned and pulled it out of his pocket. He quickly eyed the clock over her shoulder to make sure he was running on schedule; he’d been going to therapy during his lunch-hour and he couldn’t be late getting back to the office. 

Seeing his father’s number flashing on the screen, he instinctively answered. 

“Hey Dad – let me...” 

The therapist watched his facial expression change. Harden. There was a flash of panic in his eyes. 

“I’ll be right there – tell Mom I’ll be right there, please.” 

He hung up and stood from his seat looking confused, like he didn’t know what to do first. 

“Patrick?” She put her pen and pad on a table next to her chair and stood. The touch of her hand on his forearm brought him out of the trance. 

“I have to go – it’s my mother...” She watched him shrivel up in front of her; his chest started to rise and fall rapidly. 

“Ok, breathe. Patrick – are you okay to drive?” 

“Um...uh-huh,” his eyes were darting around the room. “I have to go.” 

Without another word, he grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair and rushed out to the car. He drove to his parents’ house as fast as he could. Clint was waiting for him outside when he pulled in front of the house, one tire hopped up on the curb. His father wiped his watery eyes and coughed into his fist before wrapping his son in a tight hug. 

“What the hell is going on, Dad?” 

“We don’t know anything is wrong just yet, Patrick. I...I shouldn’t have called you.” Patrick hadn’t seen this much fear on his father’s face since he’d gotten lost at the Skydome when he was eight years old. 

“Dad, I’m not a little kid. What’s going on?” 

Clint spoke for about a minute straight but Patrick only heard three words. 

_ Mammogram. Biopsy. Oncologist. _

His chest constricted and he could barely breathe. He braced himself on his father’s arm. 

“Dad...?” 

Clint Brewer’s heart broke for the second time that day when he watched his adult son devolve into the frightened little boy laying on an emergency room exam table with a broken tooth. He grabbed Patrick in a tighter hug. 

“We don’t know anything is wrong yet,” he repeated himself – more for his own peace of mind than for Patrick’s benefit. He knew Patrick was already thinking the very worst. Clint led him inside and they found Marcy sitting on the porch with a cup of tea cooling off next to her. 

“Mama?” Patrick’s voice cracked seeing her. She turned to him and offered a smile but then she was glaring at his father standing behind him. 

“Clinton Brewer, I told you not to call him!” She stood up and scolded her husband with a pointed finger. 

“Mom, I need to know these things!” Patrick grabbed her in a hug, resting his chin on top of her head. 

“Everything’s fine, Patrick.” 

“Stop saying that!” He raised his voice, incredulously. 

She quieted him down and rocked him in her arms like she’d done for as long as he could remember. He tried not to let his fears get the better of him as she explained. 

“My doctor found something unusual on my scan this year. She’s sending me for a second opinion next month. It could be absolutely nothing.” 

“Next month?! You need to get his taken care of tomorrow!” He whipped his head to look at his father. 

Clint sighed with his hands deep in his pockets and shook his head. 

“Do I have to call this fucking doctor?!” Patrick snapped. 

“Honey, I need you to calm down. It’s the earliest they can get me in.” She patted his hand. 

Patrick studied his mother’s face. The creases at the outside corners of her eyes were deeper than he’d noticed before. There were traces of worry on her face but somehow, he knew she was actually more worried about _ him _ than about herself. 

_ How is she so calm about this right now?! _ He thought to himself. 

“Don’t borrow trouble, Patrick.” She pressed her palm to his face. 

“Don’t lie to me,” he replied softly. 

“I would _ never _. I promise if something is wrong, I will tell you.” She kissed his forehead. 

“Don’t...don’t leave me, Mom...” His eyes burned and he blinked, forcing the tears back. 

“Where would I go, My Sweet Boy?” He heard a creak in her voice and it nearly killed him. 

They sat there making careful small talk a while longer but Marcy started to yawn. It was still early in the evening but the events of the day had taken their toll on her. She kissed them both and went to bed. 

Patrick followed Clint into the kitchen and they stood next to each other, leaning against the counter. They were each quietly reflecting and wondering how the hell the world could possibly keep turning if anything happened to her. 

“Are you going to be ok, Dad?” Patrick finally spoke. 

Clint cleared his throat again and reached out to squeeze his son’s arm 

“If Mom is, I’m fine.” 

His reply was simple and plainly worded. It was nothing less than what Patrick expected his father to say. 

“You?” Clint turned his head to look at him. He’s been previously afraid to make eye contact; fearing that one or both of them would crumble. 

“Yeah. I...yeah. If Mom’s ok...” He aped. Like his father, he didn’t have the strength to propose the opposite side of the statement. 

While Marcy slept, father and son made dinner in near silence; careful to skirt around the “what if” conversation. Clint set up two individual folding tables for them and they ate side by side in front of the TV; neither man paid attention to the game show that was playing. 

“Thank you for staying with me,” Clint broke the silence as he loaded the dishwasher. “You should get home, son. Get some rest.” 

Patrick nodded but looked reluctant to leave. 

“C’mon. I’ll be ok. I’m gonna go to bed soon.” 

Patrick didn’t want to go back to his empty apartment, so he drove around, trying to clear his head. Three-quarters of the way there, he realized he was unconsciously driving somewhere very specific. He went to the only place that came to mind; the only place that made sense despite the fact that it had been over three months since he’d moved out. He took the steps two at a time and rang the doorbell. 

Rachel appeared and her face went pale as soon as she saw him. Her hair was cut shorter and pulled into low pigtails. She was wearing a teal and purple sports bra with black leggings and sneakers. 

“Patrick...” She self-consciously covered her bare stomach with her forearms but it felt silly after a second; Patrick had clearly seen her wearing much less. 

He couldn’t find the words; the tears were quickly taking over in a monsoon of emotion. “C-can I come in? Please?” 

Rachel stepped aside and closed the door behind him. She turned and watched her ex-fiancé stumble to her sofa in tears. He collapsed in a heap and buried his face in his hands, the giant tears falling between the spaces in his fingers. 

“Patrick - what is it? What’s going on?” She rushed to his side and knelt on the sofa cushion next to him, her arms barely able to encircle his shoulders. 

“My mom...mom might have c-cancer...” He choked on the words as if they were stabbing him as they were spoken. 

“Oh _ no... _Honey I’m so sorry.” She kissed his temple and held him. He pulled away and repositioned his body so that he could hug her, chest to chest. 

“I can’t lose my mom, Rachel,” he sobbed into her neck. 

“You won’t, baby. Your mom is strong. She’s a fighter. If she has it, she’ll beat it.” 

Rachel’s soothing words washed over him as she gently rubbed his back with one hand and the other stroked the back of his head. He was eventually able to quiet himself and cries turned to soft whimpers. 

“I’m so sorry to bother you, I didn’t know where else to go.” 

It was true, as he drove around Patrick couldn’t think of a single, solitary other person on the planet. 

“Don’t be sorry, Patrick. I’ll always be here for you.” She kissed his cheek. 

Before she could move too far away, Patrick found himself holding he back of her head and pulling her back into him. He kissed her back, slow, and long. 

Rachel moaned as the kiss got deeper; eventually she was straddling him and unbuttoning his shirt. Patrick’s hand caressed from her knees, up the outside of her thighs to her hips. Before either of them could stop and think better of it, Patrick was pulling her leggings down around her ankles. 

When he woke up in the bed they’d bought together with his arms around her the next morning, Patrick sighed. There _ had _ to be a reason everything continued coming back to Rachel. It had to mean they belonged together. One of his hands found the dip of her waist and she stirred. 

“Mm...morning,” she said before she opened her eyes. He leaned in and kissed the place where her neck met her shoulder. 

There had to be something that kept him coming back to Rachel. In his darkest hour, he went to her. At nearly 23 years old he decided that he had to accept that this was as good as it was going to get. 

_ Fuck the butterflies. _

In the days that followed, Patrick broke his lease and moved back in with Rachel. While it’s debatable whether or not they rushed into that step, they decided on a fresh start instead of rushing back into planning a wedding. If it was going to work this time, they needed to go slow. 

Marcy had the appointment for a second opinion on her irregular mammogram. Patrick couldn’t concentrate at work, he kept staring at the clock waiting for the time of the appointment. Rachel texted him fifteen minutes after it was supposed to start. 

_ Any word? _

** Not yet. **

_ Everything is going to be ok. I love you. _

** Love you. **

_ LMK when she calls you. _

** Yup. **

The phone rang and Patrick sprang up from his desk chair, running for the privacy of the break room. 

“Dad?” 

“It’s me, honey. Dad’s driving,” Marcy said. 

“Ok. What did the doctor say?” Patrick clenched a tight fist, bracing himself. 

“I’m fine. The doctor said it was just a spot of dense tissue and that’s it.” 

“Really?” His legs gave out and he sank into a chair. 

“Absolutely. No biopsy, no nothing.” 

As he exhaled his relief, Patrick heard his father say something in the background and Marcy laughed. 

“Daddy said we’re going out for filet mignon tonight. Seven-thirty.” 

Patrick grinned. “Ok Mom. I’ll call Rachel. I love you.” 

“Love you to the moon and back, My Sweet Boy.” 

They hung up and Patrick closed his eyes, whispering a prayer of thanks to no one in particular. He called Rachel at work. The excitement and relief in her voice made his heart swell in his chest. 

_ She loves you, stop being an idiot. _

When they hung up the phone, Patrick was smiling until an undefinable feeling of doubt crept over him. He pushed the invasive thoughts away and went back to his cubicle to finish his day. 


	10. The Groomsman

More time passed and Patrick settled back into a comfortable routine with Rachel. They resumed their regular weekly date night. Rather than trying out new restaurants, they instead tried different activities: wine and paint bars, dance lessons, cooking classes, and Patrick’s favorite: escape rooms. It was all going well. They were hanging out together; laughing and having fun. Eventually she started wearing her engagement ring again. It irked him but the time to say something about it came and went. He was happy enough, he tried not to let it bother him. 

The afternoon before Asher’s bachelor party, he caught Rachel checking out wedding gowns online. He walked up behind her, intending to ask her if she wanted a cup of tea and she startled. She tried closing the internet browser but he saw the Zac Posen gown collection. She laughed a little, sounding guilty and blushed. 

“I’m just...looking,” she bit her lip and twirled the ring around her finger. 

He cleared his throat and forced a smile. He kissed the top of her head. 

“That one,” he said, trying to sound unbothered. “That one is nice.” 

She smiled at him and pulled him down for a kiss by the front of his shirt. 

“Want to see the dress I bought for the wedding?” She asked. 

“Sure, show me.” He crouched down next to her chair. 

She made a childlike squeal of excitement and opened her email inbox to find the shipping receipt from Nordstrom. It was a dark royal blue, form-fitting, strapless number that would coordinate perfectly with the grey suit he’d be wearing as one of the groomsmen. 

“Wow. That is going to look amazing on you, Rae.” He smiled and squeezed her shoulder. 

“Really?” She looked at him adoringly. 

“Yeah. Everything looks nice on you but that dress...very nice.” 

“If it gets here in time!” She said, zooming in on a frontal view of the garment, showing Patrick the slit up the right side. 

He tugged playfully on her hair. “We’re going to be the best-looking couple at the wedding,” he commented with a wink. 

She kissed his cheek and looked down at her watch. “What time do you have to meet the guys?” 

“I’ll leave here around six-thirty,” he replied. 

Rachel pursed her lips. “You’re going to a strip club, huh?” She raised an eyebrow. 

Patrick shrugged. “Possibly. Probably. I don’t actually know. His university buddies planned this thing.” 

“I don’t know how to feel about this,” she frowned. 

“Aw, come on. You know it’s not my thing. I wouldn’t normally go to one of those places but it’s Ash’s bachelor party. Anyway, I’m sure we’re doing something else first. I might not even go to the strip club.” He massaged his thumbs into her shoulders. 

“Ok. I mean, don’t not go just because I don’t want you to.” 

He smirked at her. “I don’t want to be in the doghouse when I get back. I’m not going to drink much, so I can take my own car, ok?” 

“Well now I feel bad. I want you to have fun,” she lolled her head back and he kissed her mouth. 

“I’m going to have fun, babe.” 

“Ok.” 

They cuddled up on the sofa, watching the five o’clock news. Tobey, the ginger cat Rachel had adopted the last time they broke up, leapt up and curled into a ball on her lap. 

Patrick tucked his mouth and nose into the neckline of his shirt, hoping not to inhale too much of the dander he was allergic to. Rachel knew about his allergies but hadn’t expected him to move back in. When they got back together, he wouldn’t have let her bring Tobey back to the animal rescue if she offered to. He took daily antihistamines but over the counter meds only went so far. 

The newscaster started talking about multi-millionaire businessman, Johnny Rose. 

“Johnny Rose? As in Rose Video?” Rachel looked up from her phone. 

“Yeah. Wow – this is crazy!” Patrick said, pulling his t-shirt down as the anchor read the report from the teleprompter. 

“The Rose Family; Johnny, his wife – former Sunrise Bay star Moira and their two grown children: David, a New York City gallerist and globe-trotting socialite Alexis, have been forced out of all of the family-owned properties, which have also been seized.” 

“Geez, that poor family,” Rachel said. 

“I wonder where they’re going to end up,” Patrick said. “They had so much money. I hope they catch the guy. What a snake.” 

After the news, Patrick showered and got dressed. Rachel lingered in the doorway, watching him button up his shirt and tuck it into khaki dress pants. 

“I love you, you know,” she said when he noticed her there. 

“Love you too, Rae-Rae.” 

They kissed goodbye and she watched him get in his car and drive away. Tobey wove around her leg, seeking affection. She picked him up and carried him back to the sofa. 

He arrived at his Asher’s house and it appeared that everyone else was already there. He didn’t know many of his cousin’s friends but a familiar voice got his attention. 

“The party can begin, Patrick’s here!” Cody shook his hand and yanked him into a hug. 

“How’s it going man?” Patrick laughed. 

With his arm over Patrick’s shoulders, he led him to the kitchen, where Asher was sitting on the countertop, beer bottle in hand. He took a sip and both eyebrows raised when he saw Patrick. 

“Paddy!” He put his drink down and pushed himself off the counter. They hugged each other and talked excitedly about the night. 

“I’m so glad you’re here, man!” Asher said, already looking a little tipsy. 

“What’s the plan?” Patrick playfully pushed Asher’s shoulder. 

Asher explained. Pizza and drinks at his house, then a party bus was taking them to some comedy thing his frat brothers planned and then a strip club to cap off the night. He noticed Patrick’s frown at the mention of the second stop in their evening. 

“Oh, is Rachel not going to be pleased?” Asher joked, exchanging grins with Cody. 

“Not really, no. It’s not my thing either, to be honest with you.” Patrick opened a beer for himself. 

Asher elbowed him. “You don’t have to get a lap dance if you don’t want one.” 

“How about I just buy you one, since you’re the one taking the leap,” Patrick raised an eyebrow. 

“And you’re going to be next, right? My mom said she saw Rachel in the grocery store wearing the ring,” Cody rested his elbow on Asher’s shoulder. He wiggled his eyebrows at Patrick as the two of them waited for his response. 

“Why is this all on me right now? Asher’s getting married, not me!” Patrick laughed and playfully pushed his cousins away from him. “Tell Aunt Renee that it's just a ring.” 

Cody and Asher shared a look that wasn’t lost on Patrick. “Guys, we’re fine. Really good this time. We're not rushing into getting married. Like, we just got back together.” 

A loud cheer from the living room broke up the cousin huddle. 

“Sounds like Spence just arrived,” Asher said. He took a long draught from his beer and grabbed a second one from the fridge. 

“Who?” Patrick asked. 

Cody answered. “Ash’s future brother-in-law, Patrick! Spencer McCann!” 

Patrick held both of his hands out, unsure if he should recognize that name from somewhere. “Um...” 

Asher looked over Patrick’s shoulder and waved someone over to them. Cody stepped in closer to Patrick and lowered his voice. 

“Spencer McCann, Paddy – you know, the center from the Marlies,” he explained. His tone indicated that he couldn’t believe that Patrick didn’t know who he was. 

“Ooh,” Patrick said with his eyebrows raised. He hadn’t been paying much attention to the Leafs lately, let alone their minor league affiliates, but he had heard of Spencer in passing. “I didn’t know he was Arielle’s brother.” 

“Different dads,” Asher said swallowing a mouthful of beer. “So, different last names.” 

Patrick saw Spencer enter the kitchen from his periphery and he felt like he’d been punched in the gut. Standing at nearly six feet, Spencer was wearing dark slim cut trousers that clung to his muscular legs and a perfectly tailored white dress shirt. His dark hair was short on the sides and curly on top. He reached out to slap Asher’s hand and pulled him in for a hug. 

“Glad you’re here, man.” 

“Wouldn’t miss it. It's gonna be a fun night,” Spencer smiled. He and Patrick made eye contact for the briefest of seconds. 

“Who’s this Ash?” He asked when they stepped apart from each other, ending the hug. 

“This,” Asher dangled his arm over Patrick’s shoulders. “Is who you’re going to be hanging out with while the rest of us are getting lap dances,” he joked. 

Spencer arched an eyebrow and let his lips curl up on one side. 

“I’m Patrick,” Patrick managed, offering his hand. 

“Spencer.” 

They shook hands and made small talk while Asher and Cody stepped into the living room to grab some of the pizzas that were delivered shortly before Spencer’s arrival. Patrick explained that he was Asher’s cousin and Spencer replied that he knew Asher from university and he’d actually introduced him to his sister. 

“So this is all your doing, then, huh?” Patrick asked. 

“Yeah I guess so,” Spencer replied with a smile. 

A short time later, Spencer was returning to the kitchen with two plates piled high with pizza and wings for himself and Patrick. The party was carrying on around them and they weren’t being necessarily rude but they were engaged in one of those all-too-rare social interactions where two people who just met click right away. 

They had a lot in common and very similar senses of humor. Whenever Patrick found himself talking too much or laughing too loudly at something Spencer said, he blushed and drank more beer. 

Spencer’s eyes were dark brown, big and round. His nose was slightly crooked as can be expected professional hockey player. The imperfection right in the center of his face did nothing to detract from how striking he was. 

The longer they sat at the kitchen table talking and drinking, the more comfortable Patrick became with finding Spencer attractive. His pulse raced every time he made him smile and his stomach did jumping jacks the few times he leaned in closer when the party got loud and Patrick couldn’t hear what he was saying. Spencer’s expensive cologne was intoxicating; cinnamon and warm vanilla. It lit a fire in Patrick’s veins. 

“Okay guys, party bus is here!” Another groomsmen called out from the front door. 

“Time to go,” Spencer rested his hand on top of Patrick’s for a moment. At the touch, Patrick thought he felt his pupils dilate. 

“Where are we going?” Patrick asked. 

Spencer checked to see where Asher was so that the surprise wasn’t ruined. He whispered in Patrick’s ear and chuckled at the bright smile that flashed on his face. 

“Oh my God! He’s going to love that!” Patrick said, a little giddy from standing up too fast. 

“Come on, sit next to me on the bus.” Spencer hooked his finger in Patrick’s belt loop and pulled him along; Patrick cleared his throat and followed obediently. 

The party bus was spacious enough, but Patrick let himself be crowded into his seat in the corner. Spencer crossed one leg over the other and when Patrick rested his arm on the seat behind him he sidled in closer. By the time they arrived at the theater, Patrick was dizzy and slightly overwhelmed by the power of his attraction to the man sitting next to him. It was as if Spencer had breathed life into him or as if he just been introduced to the feeling of warm sunlight on his skin. The party bus doors opened and Asher sprang up to his feet excitedly, having read the marquee. 

“No fucking way!” He shouted and offered a high-five to anybody he could reach. 

Cody pulled a white handkerchief from his pocket and tied knots at the corners to fit it on Asher’s head. Several of the other party guests were prepared with their own with handkerchiefs and did the same. 

Patrick laughed and clapped his hands. He felt a twinge of regret for not joining a fraternity when he was at university. The White Handkerchief Gang started making deep-throated grunting noises as they got off the bus. He couldn’t linger too long on his regrets because Spencer wove their fingers together and pulled him off the bus. The group huddled close underneath the marquee advertising a screening of a pre-recorded live performance of Monty Python sketches. A healthy, pink blush colored Patrick’s cheeks as he draped his arm over Spencer's shoulders and his heart skipped a beat when Spencer dug his fingertips into his waist. 

Different members of their party were standing around mixing with other ticket holders excitedly quoting their favorite sketches. 

“Nudge, nudge, wink, wink…say no more!” 

“Are you here to book a holiday, or did you want a blowjob?” 

“Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition!” 

“ALBATROSS!” 

“We’ll call it ‘The Last But One Supper!” 

“A shroe, a shroe! My dingkom for a shroe!” 

“My brain hurts!” 

Someone pushed between Patrick and Spencer and it wasn’t until that moment that Patrick realized they were holding hands again. They looked at each other and grinned, both recognizing the obvious connection they had. 

“Don’t break my heart and tell me you don’t like Monty Python,” Spencer said flirtatiously. He reached out and fixed the collar of Patrick’s shirt. 

Patrick bit his lower lip and smiled. “I actually love Monty Python. Rachel says they’re stupid.” 

“Who’s Rachel?” 

“Paddy! C'mon!” Asher broke through the crowd and grabbed Patrick’s arm. Patrick responded by reaching out for Spencer and the three of them became the first three links in a chain of party-goers walking into the movie theater together. 

The crowd was rowdy and they shouted quoted lines along with the actors on screen. One of Asher’s friends had lamented not having any weed but it was quickly apparent that at least three-fifths of the audience had more than enough for everyone. They passed thick, tightly-rolled joints back and forth and then someone was handed a pint of whisky, which also made the rounds. 

There was The Argument sketch, the Lumberjack Song, the Fish-Slapping Dance, the Ministry of Silly Walks, the Penguin on the Telly, the Four Yorkshiremen, the Aussie Philosophers Sketch. Patrick laughed so hard his sides ached and his eyes watered. When Eric Idle whipped off his proper English judge robes to reveal lingerie and stockings, Spencer howled with laughter and his hand found its way to Patrick’s thigh. He leaned in and spoke into Patrick’s ear. 

“Come outside with me a minute.” His lower lip grazed Patrick’s earlobe briefly. 

Patrick looked at him and then back at the screen. 

“We’ll be back in time for the Parrot Sketch, I promise,” he said with a wink. He didn’t wait for Patrick to reply. 

Patrick followed him outside. The coolness of the nighttime breeze was a welcome relief; he hadn’t realized how hot it was in the packed theater. Spencer leaned his back against the brick edifice of the building and beckoned Patrick over with a curled finger. His heart started pounding inexplicably in his chest. He got closer and Spencer pressed a flat palm into Patrick’s chest. 

“I like you,” Spencer said, teasing his finger against one of the buttons on Patrick’s shirts. 

“Uh-huh. I...I like you too,” Patrick’s mouth went dry. 

“So...who’s Rachel?” Spencer asked, pushing his hands deep into his pockets. 

Patrick came over woozy and nervous, his palms were suddenly clammy. “My, um...my...” He let his eyes fall to the sidewalk. 

Spencer raised his eyebrows and looked away, nodding at whatever he was saying to himself. 

“Well. That sucks,” he said with a laugh. “I’m sorry. I assumed. When Asher said we could hang out at the strip club, I thought...and then you’ve been...shall we call it...receptive?” 

“Spencer...” Patrick stepped closer to him, feeling like he was about to scream in desperation. The taller man didn’t seem angry, just confused and slightly deflated. 

“What’s your deal? Are you just one of those straight guys who likes to flirt or something?” 

“I’m...not...straight,” Patrick replied. 

The three simple words came out so easily from between Patrick’s lips. Monosyllabic truths that turned his world upside down and changed everything. Spencer’s facial expression softened and he caressed Patrick’s cheek with his fingertips. Soon, the two men were standing close enough for their foreheads to touch. They could taste the sweetness of each other’s breath. Patrick’s dick was begging for attention, pressing insistently against his zipper. 

“Are you okay?” Spencer asked, breaking the spell and stepping back. Concern spread across his face.

“I’m okay. That’s just the first time I’ve said it out loud. I’ve known for a while.” 

Spencer clicked his tongue and Patrick thought he saw a flash of the look of pity that usually came when people found out he was adopted. 

“You should come out,” Spencer said with a teasing smile. “It’s fun out here. There are beautiful boys with beautiful mouths.” He touched his finger to Patrick’s lips and let it stay there until Patrick spoke again. 

“I’m afraid,” Patrick admitted. 

Spencer nodded. “I understand that. Do it in your own time, Patrick. But do it.” 

Patrick nodded and scraped his nails against his scalp, chuckling nervously. 

“It’s really too bad. I was going to take you home tonight,” Spencer said, chewing on his lip. 

He raised an eyebrow wearing a smirk. “Were you? Kind of sure of yourself. Who says I want to go home with you?” 

At the challenge, Spencer sucked in his cheek on one side, bit down and stepped back into Patrick, his thigh pressed into Patrick’s groin. 

“Don’t you?” He tilted his head. 

Patrick wet his lips. “Very, very much.” 

“I want to teach you everything. God. This is even hotter now. I want to watch you experience everything for the first time. Fuck.” Spencer ran his fingers through the hair on the right side of Patrick’s head. Patrick didn’t even attempt to stifle his moan. 

“Too bad about that girlfriend,” Spencer stepped away. “We could have had fun.” 

Before he could respond, Patrick got a text from Asher asking him where the hell he’d gone. 

“We are being a little rude. C’mon. Let’s get back inside. We can talk more later.” 

“Can we?” 

“Of course. Keep in mind, I’m a total cock tease. Making you want me is my new goal for the night.” 

“Well...um...mission accomplished, Spencer,” Patrick said with a wink. 

“You _ think _ you want me now. Just you wait.” Spencer made a kissy face at Patrick and they returned to their seats just in time for John Cleese to walk on stage holding a cage with a dead parrot inside. 

They both sang along half-heartedly with “Always Look on the Bright Side of Life” at the finale, stealing looks at each other. Patrick hadn’t ached for someone like this before. If he had met Spencer before getting back together with Rachel... 

It was too terrifying and arousing to contemplate. 

Patrick would have been crestfallen if Spencer hadn’t sat next to him when they got back on the party bus for the drive to the strip club. To the contrary of his concerns, Spencer sat _ on _ Patrick; on his lap, which of course cause an entirely different problem. The ride was bumpy and Spencer might have ground his ass against Patrick in an attempt to not be flung across the aisle. Patrick might have held him around his waist to further protect him from getting hurt. 

Patrick wondered why nobody looked at him strangely. His mind’s eye was certainly looking at him strangely. Cody and Asher were the only two people there that knew him. They were acting as if everything was completely normal and Patrick didn’t have a girlfriend waiting at home for him while he was all but dry-humping a guy in full sight of 14 other guys. 

Asher did look over at one point when he and Spencer were engaged in a thoroughly arousing session of eye-fucking. He just smirked and looked away, asking his friend Corey for another beer from the cooler. 

When they arrived at the club, Patrick and Spencer were among the last to enter. It was dark except for the stage lights and recessed rope-style lighting on the floor. There were three stages in a cluster, the one in the middle was bigger than the other two and they each had their own stripper pole. 

They skirted the wall, having both handed over some cash to the Best Man to add to the fund which would buy Asher all of the drinks and lap dances he could want. They sat together at the back of the club; far enough away for the privacy their conversations would demand but still able to see the stage and the group so they didn’t feel like they’d completely abandoned the guest of honor. 

For whatever reason, knowing Patrick was unavailable (at that moment anyway) only seemed to make Spencer flirt more relentlessly. He teased him, taunted him, tantalized him. He was enjoying making Patrick’s jaw drop when he said something scandalous to the bartender and making Patrick blush was his new favorite past time. 

They were in the middle of a quiet talk wherein Spencer had already mentioned the word lube three times when they heard the chanting of Asher’s name. Patrick looked up, red-faced, in time to see his cousin being pulled up onto the stage, and pushed into a chair while two very scantily clad women crawled all over him while his friends threw dollar bills at them and cheered. 

“So...just out of curiosity,” Spencer traced a finger down the shell of Patrick’s ear to his neck, watching him shiver. “Is any of that hot to you? I mean, ignoring for a moment that he’s your cousin.” 

Patrick screwed up his face so comically clear in his reply that Spencer laughed and gave him a peck on the cheek. 

“How about porn?” Spencer asked. 

“Huh?” 

“Porn. Do you watch it?” 

Patrick rubbed both of his eyes, wishing he was more drunk and more sober at the same time. “No. Not really.” 

“Hm. But how do you know what you like if you...” Spencer stopped mid-sentence and laughed. 

“What’s funny?” 

“You don’t know what you like, poor baby.” 

“I like _ you _,” Patrick replied rubbing the back of his neck, embarrassed. He’d never been in deeper over his head before. 

“You’d like me more if...” Spencer looked over his shoulder got up from his barstool. He pulled Patrick by the wrist to a dark corner of the club that was probably only utilized on busier nights or for larger parties. 

“Spence, I can’t...” Patrick said regretfully. As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t cheat on Rachel. 

“Ooh, you call me _ Spence _ now?” He winked. Patrick laughed and looked away. 

“So, you can’t kiss me, or touch me anywhere fun,” Spencer circled Patrick like a shark who smelled thick blood in the water. “And I respect that. If you were single right now, would you let me kiss you?” 

A chill shot up Patrick’s spine and his lizard-level brain allowed him to nod. 

“Would you let me touch you?” 

Patrick felt his breath on his neck. 

“Mmm...mm-hmm...” 

“You want me to suck you off, don’t you?” 

“Yes...” Patrick swallowed a lump in his throat and squeezed his eyes shut. 

“Too bad I can’t.” Spencer put enough distance between them that Patrick couldn’t feel his body heat anymore. He thought his knees were about to buckle and he leaned against the wall. 

“I’ll make you a deal, Patrick.” Spencer was grinning. “If we’re both single by the wedding, maybe we can give this a real try.” 

“We...yeah?” Patrick had never felt less articulate in his adult life. 

“You are...off the charts adorable,” Spencer said, biting his lip. “Give me your phone.” 

Patrick obeyed and Spencer typed his phone number into it. 

“Might want to put a lock on that,” he winked and handed Patrick’s phone back to him. 

“Why’s that?” 

Patrick never got an answer to his question because it was time to leave. Asher was beyond drunk and it was only a matter of time before the night would take a turn for the worst. When they piled back onto the bus, the party goers started to sing the Spam Song at the top of their lungs. Cody caught Patrick’s eye just before he was about to board and he pulled him aside. 

“Paddy - um...I gotta tell you something...” He said, wobbling on his drunken legs. 

“Yeah?” 

“Um...I’m not going to say anything about you and Spencer. But um...” 

“Oh...” Patrick’s face fell. 

“No, no, it’s cool. He’s a good dude. That’s what you need, man. A good guy.” 

“I do?” 

“Ash and I thought you two would um...hit it off.” He winked. 

Patrick was feeling very exposed in spite of not having done anything truly questionable. 

“You guys have talked about me? Behind my back?” 

“Only because like...we love you and we know you’re not happy with Rachel. If it’s because you’re into guys...” 

“Cody! C’mon - I need Taco Bell, stat!” Asher was standing with his hands on the open doors of the bus. 

“Ok Ash, coming!” Patrick wiggled away from his cousin and boarded the bus. 


	11. Patrick's Next Step

Patrick plopped down on the sofa when he returned to the apartment after the party. He knew he should wait to text Spencer but he couldn’t stop thinking about him. Patrick spent hours staring into Spencer’s chocolate brown eyes, they’d imprinted on him. 

At the strip club, Spencer knocked something off the bar top and knelt down to get it. He looked up from the floor and put one hand on Patrick’s need to steady himself. When Patrick looked down Spencer suggestively licked his lips and Patrick all but short-circuited. 

Laying on the three-piece sectional in the living room thinking about Spencer looking up at him from his knees was enough to get his dick standing at full attention. He fidgeted and squeezed himself over his pants, which did little to relieve the situation he found himself in. 

He stared at his phone, willing Spencer to text him first until he remembered that he hadn’t given him his number. He groaned and pulled his dress shirt over his head. Suddenly remembering that Spencer was an athlete, Patrick started to chew on his upper lip wondering if he should start down a Google image search rabbit hole. 

Did that cross a line somehow? 

Spencer would hardly be able to do the same thing if he were so inclined. 

He tapped his phone against his closed lips while he thought about it. Finally deciding that anybody who wanted to could easily look Spencer up on the internet let him to decide there was nothing wrong with typing ‘Spencer McCann’ in a search engine. 

It was trickier than he thought. 

It was not exactly a very common name but there were more Spencer McCann’s and he thought there would be. He changed the search terms to include ‘Marlies’ and hit the jackpot. He saw several articles with Spencer’s name in the headline but that would have to wait for another day. Spencer was wearing his helmet and a mouthguard in a lot of the pictures so Patrick flipped his thumb quickly through them. 

He stopped at a picture from a team event at a children’s hospital. Spencer was wearing a burgundy polo shirt tucked into form-fitting jeans. He was smiling at something out of frame, not looking directly into the camera. Patrick’s sighed and flicked to the next photo. 

Spencer was scowling at the camera in a blue t-shirt; the muscles in his arms rippled and the fabric of his shirt sleeves were pulled taut over them. The next photo; Spencer in his uniform and pads without his helmet, his fists clenched in front of him and he was clearly shouting excitedly about a win. His enthusiasm made Patrick’s chest swell before he flicked his thumb. Patrick nearly choked on his tongue when he saw the next one. 

Spencer was wearing nothing except his skates and boxer briefs so tight and so tiny, they left absolutely nothing to the imagination. He was standing nearly naked on the ice holding a rainbow flag proudly behind him. The photo was attached to an article about him being one of the few pro athletes to come out.

Patrick used two fingers to zoom in on his face and after a few moments, he scanned down Spencer’s neck to his bare muscly chest and stomach. Something wouldn't let him focus directly on Spencer’s crotch or the clear outline of his dick in the skimpy pair of boxers. He scanned down his thick muscular thighs and slowly back up to his face again. 

That face was so close to his that night; those lips were a breath away. He stared at the photo and opened the fly of his pants. Balancing the phone on his chest he zoomed out enough to view Spencer’s face and chest. He massaged himself over his underwear. 

The apartment was full of quiet and stillness; there was nothing to stop him. 

Eventually, Patrick put the phone down and closed his eyes. He gave into it. Gave in to the feeling of wanting Spencer on top of him; underneath, inside and all around him. He pressed his head back into the pillow and sank into the pool of desire he’d been swimming in all night. He tried to imagine away the sofa, the apartment and tried picturing them in a king size bed with dark grey damask sheets. He pictured himself gripping a wrought-iron headboard and looking down to see the top of Spencer’s head while he softly kissed down his chest. His tongue drew little circles and swirls on his stomach. A moan escaped his lips and he pictured Spencer’s mouth spread wide and full of his cock. 

Shifting the sofa, he pushed his pants and boxers down low enough to free his leaking cock. He worked his hand slowly in a tight fist, fantasizing about Spencer’s hot, wet, red mouth. He ran his free hand up under his t-shirt and squeezed one of his nipples. He caught a whiff of the cinnamon vanilla cologne on his shirt and his mouth watered. He tightened his grip and his toes clenched He imagined pushing the athlete down his back and taking him into his mouth. Patrick hips rocked up to meet his fist and the spiky feeling blossomed in his lower spine proceeding to rush up his body, unabated. 

He sputtered and whispered an obscenity as he shot cum up his stomach. While he gasped and tried to catch his breath, Patrick leaned up on both elbows and looked down at himself. He had jerked off countless times in his life but there was always something mechanical about it all. It had been a bodily function he performed by rote until that night. He flopped onto his back still panting, kicked his pants off and pulled his boxers back up. 

The cum started to go cold on his skin. He felt around the floor for the button-down shirt, then used it to clean up. Then everything was still and quiet again. He stared at the ceiling, choking the tears back. As the levee broke and the tears came, he covered his mouth was one hand and draped his opposite forearm over his eyes. He wept uncontrollably; big heavy tears. 

Why was he still denying himself? 

He’d finally said it out loud. He didn’t know what it would mean for his future. 

Was there a future with Spencer? 

With anybody? 

One thing was abundantly clear: he couldn’t possibly spend another 27 years denying who he was. 

* * *

“Has he come out of his room yet?” Clint asked Marcy. 

They sat across from each other at the dinner table and she shook her head, not moving her eyes from the hallway hoping their son would emerge. In the weeks since Patrick had moved back into his childhood home they'd barely seen him. He kept terrible hours. 

Up just after dawn to go for a run, home to eat breakfast, then off to the gym to work out more and shower, then to the office and he retreated into his room until he got hungry. They’d both heard the sound of the television coming from his bedroom at 3 a.m. His piano went unplayed in the music room and they rarely heard his guitar either. 

Practically the only proof of life they got was a washed cereal bowl and spoon in the dish rack drip drying. 

“Something’s different about this break-up Clint. Something’s wrong.” 

Clint nodded, chewing his chicken cutlet thoughtfully. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, something felt different. His boy was in pain and there was nothing he could do about it. 

He had knocked on Patrick’s door to check on him earlier and he took a step back when Patrick appeared, looking like he hadn’t slept in days. 

“My God, Paddy,” he’d said. 

“Yeah, I’m tired Dad.” 

He hardly recognized the voice; it was as if some stranger had moved into Patrick’s room. 

They thought his melancholy mood might lift the day of Asher’s wedding. He’d been jumping out of his skin every time his phone went off. For the first time, Marcy became concerned that her beloved son might actually be on drugs because of the way he wandered aimlessly around the house, staring at him phone like he expected it to explode. 

While she wanted to respect Patrick’s privacy, if he was spiraling out, he needed help. He was also living under her roof. When he left the house with his suit to get ready at Asher’s house, she searched his room and came up with nothing suspicious except for a locked box on the high shelf in his closet. Marcy stared at it for a minute and shook her head. 

Patrick wasn’t doing drugs, she just had to trust that if he needed help, he’d come to her. 

As he drove to his cousin’s house, Patrick’s mind was whirring with a million questions. He’d texted Spencer an embarrassing number of times since the bachelor party and he hadn’t responded once. 

How could he have misread the signs so badly? Had Spencer been toying with him? He met a closeted guy, got him to peek his head out of the closet and then dropped him like a bad habit? 

Cody had told him he was a good guy and this was not good guy behavior. Still, he didn’t dare call his cousin and ask questions. He didn’t want to look desperate, or worse – force Cody to break the bad news that the sexy athlete from the bachelor party wasn’t actually interested in him. 

He arrived at Asher’s house and Spencer was noticeably absent. The groomsmen began celebrating early; the beers and shots were flowing freely. He got into his pants and shirt, securing the suspenders and left the jacket on its hanger in the washroom. By the time he came back out again Spencer was there and they made nearly immediate eye contact across the room. 

Patrick’s heart swelled and then almost immediately shattered again when an unknown man easily wrapped his arms around Spender’s waist and kissed his neck. Spencer smiled and turned his attention to the man, completely ignoring Patrick’s presence. 

His chest felt tight and he thought he was going to throw up. He exited the kitchen door and leaned against the round patio table. 

_ What the hell is going on?! _ He thought to himself. 

He hid on the patio until Asher came out looking for him. 

“Paddy? Photographer’s here. Whoa- you look like you’ve seen a ghost!” 

Asher started to approach but Patrick waved him off. 

“Just getting some air. I’ll be in in just a minute.” He watched Asher reluctantly retreat and took a minute to breathe. 

“Pull yourself together, Patrick,” he said to himself. “It’s about Ash and Arielle today, it’s not about you, you selfish prick.” 

He rolled his shoulders back, cracked his neck and shook out his arms down to his fingertips. He went inside and put on his suit jacket. 

It appeared that Spencer’s date dropped him off and left because he was nowhere to be seen when Patrick looked around. He made every effort not to look at him while they posed for all of the usual cheesy photos. Fortunately it didn’t take very long and the stretch limo arrived to bring them all to the church. He escorted Arielle’s sister Beth down the aisle and his blood pressure elevated when Spencer came down the aisle with Melissa, Arielle’s roommate from college. 

Spencer smiled seemed to dim for a moment when he saw Patrick looking at him. He straightened his back and Patrick thought he saw a defiant gleam in his eyes as he passed by. 

_Oh __God that cologne__… _Patrick had nearly forgotten it. He tried not to turn his head, chasing the scent. 

As soon as the formal post-ceremony photos were taken and the groomsmen were relieved of their official duties, Patrick headed for the bar. He felt very much like a robot as relative to relative approached, gave him a hug and asked where Rachel was. He put on his practiced fake smile and explained at least 7 times that they had broken up. It took all of his restraint not to scream whenever someone asked the one worded question: 

“Again?” 

He was nursing his third beer in 45 minutes when he made the mistake of looking up just in time to see Spencer dancing with his date. He huffed, feeling out of breath, finished his drink and went out to the patio for some air. 

The sounds of a joyous family event happening on the other side of the glass French doors were a stark contrast to the way he felt. It was so awful, he was thinking about calling for an Uber to bring him back to his car when the sound of the music got louder then muted again, indicating someone else stepped outside. 

Spencer appeared in his periphery and Patrick held his breath, as if I not breathing he could make himself disappear. Spencer looked upset. Patrick swallowed and exhaled before turning to face him. 

“We should talk,” Spencer said with a harsh in his tone 

“Should we? I thought you’d made yourself pretty damn clear,” Patrick replied. 

Spencer screwed up his face and crossed his arms defensively. “What the fuck does that mean?” 

Patrick was drunker than he ought to have been for this conversation but the hell with it. 

“I liked you. I thought you liked me but instead of telling me you weren’t interested you just ignored me completely.” 

“I literally don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.” Spencer angled his hips and lifted his head. 

“Give me a little bit of credit.” Patrick took a step closer. “I texted you. I’ve been texted you and calling. You didn’t reply once in all of this time. If you weren’t interested, why not just tell me?” 

Spencer’s eyes went wide and he dropped his hands to his sides. 

“Patrick, I didn’t get any messages from you. Not one. I was very interested. I kept hoping to hear from you.” 

“Bull.” 

“No! No, not bull. I thought I came on too strong and like freaked you out. I thought maybe you changed your mind. I swear I never got a single message from you. I wanted to get your number from Asher or Cody but...I didn’t know if you’d come out to them and I didn’t want to risk them asking too many questions. I almost didn’t come today because I thought you’d be uncomfortable.” 

Patrick laughed sarcastically and pulled his phone from his back pocket. He opened the chat history and held it up for Spencer to see. Spencer approached cautiously and took the phone from him. Patrick watched the confusion cycle across his face.

Spencer  
  
**August 16, 2016** 10:15 AM  
Hi, it’s Patrick.  
**August 16, 2016** 2:05 PM  
Busy?  
**August 17, 2016** 1:15 PM  
So, I broke up with Rachel last night. I’m moving in with my folks for a bit.  
**August 17, 2016** 2:00 PM  
I’m sorry if this is annoying but I could really use a friend right now.  
**August 17, 2016** 8:05 PM  
I've been thinking about where we could go for our first date.  
**August 19, 2016** 4:43 PM  
I came across this on YouTube today, it made me think of you:  
https://youtu.be/tDu-fGp_A9Y   
**August 21, 2016** 8:04 AM  
Did I mention I was single now?   
**August 21, 2016** 10:02 PM  
okay I can take a hint Spencer.   
**August 22, 2016** 2:30 AM  
I wish I knew what I did wrong. I’ll leave you alone.   
  


Spencer’s eyebrows came together behind his thick black framed glasses.

"I didn’t get any of these." he shuffled back up the line of messages with his thumb and his jaw dropped. 

“Oh...oh no...” 

“What?” Patrick hugged his own abdomen. 

“I...I’m...fuck. Patrick I’m so sorry,” Spencer looked at him with the backlight of the screen Illuminating a sorrowful expression. 

“What?” Patrick swallowed the lump in his throat and his voice softened. 

“That's not my cell number,” Spencer said softly. “I typed it in wrong. My number ends in 8366, not 8336. I must have been...I wasn't paying attention. This is my fault.” 

Patrick looked from his phone to Spencer’s face to his phone again. To Spencer’s surprised, he smiled. 

“So you mean...” 

“Yes. I was really interested in dating you. I for sure wanted to sleep with you but...I felt a connection with you.” Spencer said, letting a semi-flirtatious smirk flash. 

“Well, I mean I’m single now,” Patrick took a step closer and moved in to cup Spencer’s cheek. 

Spencer took a step back. “I’m not single, Patrick. I’m sorry but I can’t do that to Tyler. He and I met on a dating app about a month before I met you. I wasn’t going to pursue anything after I met you but when you didn’t call...” 

Just when Patrick thought his heart couldn’t possibly shatter into any more pieces it happened. He couldn’t let himself fall apart in front of anybody. Somehow, he forced himself to keep it together. 

“Got it. Ok.” 

“I’m so sorry. I feel awful. I wish it was different, Patrick.” Spencer reached out and squeezed his forearm. The heat of his skin sent ripples of want up to Patrick’s shoulder, then directly to his heart. 

“Don’t, please,” Patrick stuttered out and tugged his arm free. 

“Ok, I’m sorry,” Spencer said softly and held his hands up in front of him. 

Patrick pressed his back against the wall, trying to take a deep breath. 

It had been a disaster. 

A completely maddening disaster. 

"You know, if you need a friend - I can be your friend, Patrick. I've been where you are. It's scary. I can help you get through it."

Patrick rolled his lips inward and looked away. "Thank you."

"Whoever gets to be with you is a very lucky guy," Spencer tried to smile. "Very, very lucky. I'm jealous of him."

* * *

It felt good to start over.

He'd taken a few days after the wedding to wallow and then he started getting himself back on track. He quickly came to the realization that reinventing himself would be substantially easier to do if he moved away. He wanted to go somewhere new, where nobody knew him. He had more than enough in his savings account to get a place. His credit was good and he was confident that his former landlord would give him a good reference. He could always fudge that part of an application if he needed to.

Since start-up money wasn't an issue, step one would be to find a job.

Unsurprisingly, there weren't many jobs for business analysts in cities where he could afford to live. He was getting discouraged when he came across an ad that seemed like a joke.

"AMAZING OPPORTUNITY!!!

Local small businesses owner seeks experienced office help!! Are you a multi-tasker? That's who I need!

Incorporations, filing paperwork, document review

Room and board plus salary!! You don't have to live here but there is a room available in my home for you!

Walking distance to all the lovely sights in rural Schitt's Creek, Ont!!

Call Ray Butani!!!"

There were a few too many exclamation points for Patrick's taste but the posted salary was decent, especially considering Patrick's living expenses would be part of his pay. That part seemed less insane the longer he thought about it. Something wouldn't let him click past the ad. He open a second browser window and Googled the town of Schitt's Creek.

_This cannot possibly be a real place._

The town website looked like it had been created in the mid-90's and never updated again. He looked up Ray Butani and found an old MySpace page, a Facebook page, a LinkedIn profile and a Tumblr account. He seemed like a friendly, if overenthusiastic, guy. He was probably normal enough.

Patrick jotted down the phone number Ray had included in the job ad and called him later that afternoon. A week later, he was packing up his belongings, having accepted a job at 'RB Enterprises'. It was a quick decision and the voice in the back of his head kept telling him he was acting too impulsively but as that was the same voice which had been trying to convince him that he was attracted to women his entire life, he ignored it.

He secured the last box on the roof of his car and gave both of his parents the tightest hugs he could muster.

"I'll call you when I get there," he said, kissing his mother's cheek.

"Pull over and take a nap if you get tired, Paddy," Clint advised.

"I will."

"I miss you already," Marcy dabbed at her eye and rested her head against her husband's chest.

"Love you, Mom. This is gonna be good for me. I need to do this."

"You can always come home if you need to, son." Clint gave Patrick a nod and a smile, then another hug.

He secured his seatbelt and gripped the steering wheel. With a final wave to his parents, Patrick backed out of the driveway and headed west for his new life.


	12. B-13

“Yeah, Mom. I still like it here. It’s nice. There’s not much to do in town but Elmdale isn’t that far away. Oh, hey, I might sign up to play for a local baseball league. I met a couple of the players at a bar just outside of town, they seem like cool guys. One of them, this guy Bryan, invited me to a party tomorrow night.” 

He was pinching the phone against his ear with his shoulder as he unpacked a box of books onto the bookcase he ordered from Wayfair and finally found the time to put together..

Once that was done, he’d be officially unpacked.

“My boss?” He asked. “Yeah, everything’s still going well, Mom.”

It wasn’t a lie. He liked Ray straight off. He talked an awful lot but Patrick didn’t mind it much. Ray just seemed a little lonely and since Patrick hadn’t made many friends yet, he understood what it meant to need company.

“Patrick! I made too much chicken parm again, are you hungry?” Ray had opened his bedroom door without knocking again.

“Hold on one sec, Mom,” He moved the phone away from his ear.

“Sounds good Ray. I’ll be down in a minute.” He smiled. Ray was a really good cook.

“Oh, wonderful! It’s so nice having you here,” Ray beamed. “I always make too much and eating leftovers can be so dull.” He lingered in the doorway longer than necessary.

“Thanks. Um – I'm sort of in the middle of something,” Patrick held up his phone just in case Ray hadn’t noticed.

“Oh! Of course! Is that your mother? Hello, Marcy!” Ray waved.

“Ray says ‘hi’, Mom. Mom says hello and thank you for the curry recipe. My Dad loved it,” Patrick replied patiently.

“Oh, it was my pleasure. It’s so nice to try new things! I’ll send her my grandmother’s recipe for chicken shawarma next!” Ray continued to stand there and Patrick gave him a tight, thin-lipped, polite smile. 

Once again, Ray wasn’t picking up on Patrick’s subtle body language.

“Oookay,” Patrick sighed. “Um, Mom, let me call you back after dinner. Love you too. Say hi to Dad for me. ‘K. Bye Mama.”

He followed Ray down the stairs and indulged in more chicken parm than he thought he would. After he ate, he was feeling extra drowsy.

“Patrick I have a new client coming in tomorrow afternoon that I need you to take care of,” Ray said while they washed the dishes, side by side.

“Sure thing,” Patrick replied, stifling a yawn with the back of his hand. 

“I would take care of it but I have a couple coming in for their engagement pictures – unless you would rather do that and I’ll handle David Rose’s business incorporation for the general store.”

Patrick laughed and shook his head. “No that’s fine Ray. I’ll take care of the incorporation paperwork.”  
Ray pursed his lips the way he did when there was something he wanted to say and was thinking of a diplomatic way to say it. 

“Have you, um, have you met David?” Ray asked, not making eye contact.

“No, not yet. Funny thing though – I used to work for Rose Video when I was in high school. I never imagined I’d end up in the same town the Rose family moved to after all of that,” Patrick said.

“You heard about that, huh? So unfortunate. They seem to be settling in, mostly. David is...an interesting fellow, to be sure.”

In their short association, Patrick hadn’t heard Ray sound so conflicted in his tone before. There had to be a story but it was very much unlike Ray to not go into an absurd amount of detail. 

“’An interesting fellow’, eh?” Patrick pushed for further information. “Should I be concerned?” He looked at Ray with a bemused expression.

“Oh! No! There’s nothing to be concerned about at all. David is...a bit precious. He might...need you to hold his hand a bit more than other people who’ve come through the office. That’s all.”

“Is he the nervous type?” Patrick offered.

Ray smiled and barely moved his lips when he spoke. “That is one way to say it, yes.”

Patrick nodded thoughtfully.

“That’s alright. I’ve done my fair share of hand-holding. Starting a business is a big deal, people get anxious about it.”

Something in the look of relief on Ray’s face made Patrick suspect that Ray could have rescheduled either David’s appointment or the engagement photoshoot if he wanted to, but he had purposely double-booked himself so that Patrick would be the one to help David.

_That’s silly. Why would he do that? How bad could David be?_ Patrick wondered.

* * *

_Wow. This guy is a lot._ Patrick thought to himself.

_Who uses ‘oscillate’ in this context?_

Patrick started to get a little nervous for him when David couldn’t even give him an address.

“Yeah. For sure. We’ll leave that one blank as well,” he said. Deciding to have a little bit of fun with him, Patrick told him he was batting .1000.

“I don’t know what that means,” David replied.

The longer David sat across from him, trying to explain his vision for his store, the more Patrick wanted him to keep talking. A tickly feeling began in Patrick’s groin and fluttered upward to his stomach. He covered his mouth, realizing that he very much wanted to know what David Rose’s mouth tasted like. He was enraptured by the man. He wanted to know everything about him; first on his list of personal questions was ‘why in the world are you wearing a sweater right now?’

“It’s an environment,” David said, waving his hands.

Patrick clenched his pelvic floor – the semi quickly forming in his pants was wildly unprofessional. He spoke again, and halfway through his sentence he realized that his voice had lowered nearly an entire octave from normal. 

_How does he do that with his eyebrows?_

_He’s so hot._

The thought came to him so easily, so naturally. 

_David is hot._

_Really fucking hot._

Patrick felt sort of empowered, being the one behind the desk with David coming to him for help. From their first meeting, it was clear that David needed more than a little bit of extra encouragement and Patrick was just fine with that.

He liked the way flirting with David made him feel. He was a lot more relaxed this time around than he had been in the beginning with Spencer, in spite of the strange weightless sensation in his stomach. He liked teasing David and watching his face contort. Dipping his toe in the waters of flirting with a man he’d just met gave him a lot of satisfaction. 

He didn’t want David to leave but he was convinced that David was out of his league and he didn't want to say something stupid to ruin their tete a tete. Also, if he didn’t get to his room to rub one out right away, he wasn’t going to be able to concentrate on anything for the rest of the day. He handed David the stack of papers and suggested he come back another day when he had a clearer idea for the business.

“Um, I do have a clear idea,” David replied, looking slightly confused.

“Oh, so you’ve settled on a name, then?”  
Why was his voice doing that? Why was it so low and gravelly?

David looked annoyed.

“Um, you’re either very impatient, or extremely sure of yourself,” he said.

Patrick grinned wide. “Threw you a bit of a change-up there, huh?”

“Again, I don’t know what that means, I don’t play cricket,” David snipped.

Very happy that he’d chosen to include his cell phone number on his new business cards, Patrick slipped one out of the card holder on his desk and handed it to David. He hoped David would call him and he further hoped a phone consultation could turn into dinner.

“Um, you know what? I think I’m good. So, thank you for this,” David said as he left. Patrick felt his pulse elevate and there was an unidentifiable flippy feeling in his stomach. 

“It’s nice to meet you, David.” Patrick stood awkwardly behind his desk. He very much would have preferred to be sitting – standing was semi-uncomfortable. He just wouldn’t be able to check out David’s ass from that vantage point. He bit his lower lip and watched David’s hips sway as he walked away.

_God. Those lips…fuck. They look so soft What was that cologne he was wearing? He’s adorable and a little bitchy. Totally high maintenance. Is this my type? Do I have a type?_ Patrick chuckled at himself with his flat palms pressed firmly down on his desk. 

“Teresa, look a little more at me – good! Now look at me like I’m your best friend from high school! Now look at me like I can fly – Excellent!” Ray encouraged his client from behind the lens of his camera.

“Ray, I’m going to take lunch,” Patrick told him. He grabbed the salad he’d made for himself the night before and went up to his room, shaking the bottle of dressing.

He dropped the Tupperware container on his dresser and flopped down on his bed. With both hands behind his head. He smiled at the ceiling. He knew David would call him, he just hoped he was ready for it.

* * *

Patrick was excited about meeting up with the guys from the bar at a party that night. He hadn’t gotten out much since moving to town. When he arrived at the address he was given, he had somehow missed the detail that that event he’d been invited to was a birthday party for one of their girlfriends. Out of the good manners his parents had taught him, he had stopped for a bottle of wine and some flowers on the way, thinking it was just a dinner party or a casual party for no reason.

“Hey! Wow, Patrick -“ Bryan said when he opened the front door. “I didn’t even buy my girl flowers, you kiss ass!” Patrick blushed a little and handed him the bottle of wine. 

Bryan introduced Patrick around to everyone he hadn’t met yet and Patrick retained about 65% of their names. 

“And this, is the birthday girl – Caroline. Babe, this is Patrick.”

She smiled warmly at him and clapped her hands in excitement when he handed her the bouquet of pink Gerbera daisies.

“You,” she said giving him a kiss on the cheek. “Are welcome here anytime.” 

“Thanks. Um, happy birthday!” Patrick shook her hand, returning the smile.

Even though everyone was friendly and welcoming to him, Patrick stayed on the outskirts of the party. It was slightly uncomfortable and a little isolating to be the only one there not in on the inside jokes and who didn’t know the endings of the stories they told from other parties and long-ago nights of drinking at university.

After an hour or two, he sat outside watching the others playing cornhole and he took his phone out of his pocket. Seeing a number of missed calls from a number he didn’t recognize intrigued him. It was loud inside the house, he never heard it ring. He sipped at a glass of wine as he checked his voicemail.

“Hi David, it’s Patrick -” 

Hearing David’s voice when he wasn’t expecting it nearly made him choke on his drink. He put his glass down on the table next to him and patted his hand at the droplets of rosè on the front of his shirt. 

“Patrick - everything okay?” Bryan asked him. Patrick nodded and held up a finger, asking for a minute. He stood up and walked around to the side of the house so he could listen to the voicemails in private.

David sounded spacey and nervous in the messages. He spoke in broad, sweeping, passionate language. After the fifth message, he seemed to mellow out and stopped repeating himself as much. Patrick paused the message and ran out to his car for the notebook he kept in the glove compartment. He flipped past the first fifteen or twenty pages of lyrics to songs he ‘d come up with and jotted down some notes while he listened to David speaking..

“...basically to re-brand items from local craftspeople – did I tell you about my time on an Amish farm? Well, they make the most amazing butter you’ve ever tasted. I think maybe if I buy it in bulk, and If I can entice them to add seasonings to it, you know, to make compound butters like parsley and chives, thyme, rosemary – ooh or tarragon... oh my god now I want the tarragon roasted lamb from Eleven Madison Park – that was my favorite place in New York...sorry, I’m really hungry...”

“...one-stop-shopping situation for the home esthetician with a full-line of carefully curated skin products. That’s really what I want for Rose Apothecary. Did I already say I’d decided on the name? No? Well, that’s the name. Rose Apothecary. What do you think?”

“So, yeah, um…yeah. Rose Apothecary. Um. See you soon, I guess? Yeah. Um. See you around, then. This was David Rose, by the way. Ok. Ok. Bye.”

Grinning ear to ear, Patrick hung up and tucked his pen in the spiral binding of his notebook. When he put his phone in his back pocket, he felt a piece of paper in there and couldn’t think of what it could be. A receipt, maybe? Seeing the flag with B-13 printed on it made him feel like a thick, warm liquid was poured over him. He tucked it safely into his wallet and returned to the party. 

After another glass of wine, he switched to beers and joined in playing cornhole. 

“So who called you?” Bryan nudged his elbow and handed him a beanbag.

“Hmm?”

“Who was she?” Bryan teased him. “Only one thing could put a stupid grin like that on my face.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Patrick laughed.

“Buuuuullshit. You’ve got a hot date. Minimum of a booty call, am I right?”

Patrick felt his cheeks flush. “No, nothing like that.”

“Aw, come on Big Pat! Call her back, tell her to come by! Hell, if she lives here, we all probably know her anyway!” Bryan encouraged with a friendly clap on his back. “Although, if it’s…tell me one thing, it’s not Stevie Budd, right? Because Joey and her had a thing last summer and it did not go well. I’d have to warn him if she was coming…”

“Nope, I have no idea who she is. And un…it was…a guy. The person who called me.” Patrick avoided eye contact at first, then cast a guarded glance at Bryan. He watched him go through each step of processing what that meant as if his thoughts were expressed on the scrolling ticker of the New York Stock Exchange.

“Ah. Ah-ha. Gotcha.”

“Yeah. Um…maybe don’t spread that around? I’m new here and it’s a small town so…” Patrick looked down at his shoes.

“Oh, sure! I mean, I won’t say anything. But, I mean, it’s all good. I promise you, absolutely nobody here would have a problem with it.” He motioned his arm broadly at the others.

“That’s good. Good to know.” Patrick nodded.

“It’s a lame-ass small town in the middle of nowhere, Patrick but it’s a chill place. Seriously. My younger brother is gay,” Bryan assured him.

"Thanks, man.”

“You’re not ‘out,’ I take it?”

Patrick scoffed. “Honestly? You’re like…the third person who knows. Including myself.”

“Wow….that’s…Patrick…” Bryan stood very still for a second. “Hey?”

“Yeah?” Patrick looked at him with an eyebrow raised.

“Thanks for trusting me with that.”

Patrick smiled wide. “ I gotta trust somebody with it, right?”

“Yeah. Yeah you do.” Bryan opened his arms, offering a hug. Patrick laughed and accepted the gesture.


	13. 7/3/2017

After dropping David off at the motel, Patrick drove around town in silence. Driving away from David was one of the most difficult things he’d ever done. He’d intended on going home but he was so distracted by the kiss - his first kiss - that he missed the turn to Ray’s house. He found himself pulling into the high school parking lot and turning the key in the ignition. He hopped out of the car and put his keys into his pocket. He slipped his arms out of his jacket, folded it in half and laid it across the backseat of the car. 

The façade of the old high school building looked strangely similar to the main building of the private school he’d gone to. The windows were darkened by that late hour and there were two lowly lit street lights illuminating the parking area. The paper decorations from that evening’s graduation ceremony were still hanging from the trees, balloons in the school’s colors were still tied to the railings of the front stairs. 

Patrick found a tassel on the sidewalk that had fallen off a graduate’s cap. He picked it up and felt the smoothness of the braided polyester material. He slipped the loop of it over a low hanging tree branch, just in case its owner came back in the morning looking for it. 

A single white rose was on the ground, it must have fallen out of someone’s congratulatory bouquet. When Patrick picked it up, he discovered the stem was broken almost all the way through. He took his pocket knife out and cut it short to remove the part of the stem hanging by sinew. Patrick inhaled the scent of the flower as it wafted around him. There had been the slightest hint of rose on David’s skin that night. He traced the petals across his lips and found the feeling of it to be comparable to the feeling of David’s soft lips on his. 

Tucking the flower behind his ear, Patrick went for a walk eventually ending up in the soccer field next to the school. For no reason at all he took off his socks and shoes and walked in the grass barefoot. It was pillowy and soft, cushioning each of his steps. Reaching the middle of the field, Patrick looked up at the sky and found the North star. He took a long, deep breath. 

A victorious yawp that must have been building inside him from the minute he met David charged out of his mouth and he held his hands high above his head. 

He covered his face with his hands and bent at the waist, trying to ward off the sudden dizzy spell. His eyes flooded with tears of relief, joy really, and he dropped to his knees. Grateful to be alone, Patrick was sure he looked like he’d lost his mind when he started laughing hysterically with tears falling easily down his cheeks. 

He got down to a plank position and rolled to his back, enjoying the cool nighttime breeze and the sensation of the grass tickling his skin. 

“Holy fucking shit,” he softly said out loud, still laughing. 

Patrick pressed his hand to his chest and felt his heart pounding against his palm. His stomach was doing acrobatics. He was nearly consumed by a feeling of something big, something huge, trying to burst out of him. Was it love? It couldn’t be love after a moderately edible dinner and one little kiss, could it? 

Something hard and uncomfortable was digging into him and he shifted positions twice before he realized it was his cellphone in his back pocket. He needed to share this feeling. He needed to talk about it; yell about it, celebrate it. There was only one person he could think of to call. 

He dialed Remy’s number from memory. He cleared his throat and drummed his thumb on the ground while waiting for her to answer. 

“Hey, you’re up kinda late!” She answered. He could hear her smiling at him from far away and it hurt the solitary part of his heart that wasn’t throbbing with jubilation. 

“Rem - I –_ shit _! What time is it? Did I wake you up?” He looked at his watch. 

“Paddy, I’m a musician – while you’re working at your office, I’m asleep – these are my hours,” she laughed. “What’s up? You alright?” 

“Better than alright. Better than ever, actually.” 

“Do I need to pour myself a drink for this?” She asked. 

“Maybe,” He laughed. “I just went on a date. A real date. My first date.” 

He was talking so fast she squinted to catch up with him. 

“With that David guy you told me about? Your – _ ahem – _ business partner? _ ” _ She made air quotes with her free hand. 

“You knew?” Patrick cocked his head. 

Remy laughed so loudly, he moved the phone away from his ear. “Patrick. C’mon.” 

He smirked. “You’re saying it’s obvious?” 

“I’m saying that I’m gay, my gaydar is attuned and your same-sex orientation is not exactly breaking news to me. Tell me about your night.” 

Patrick rolled his eyes, but obliged her. “It was the best night of my life. And perfect. And I think I’m in love. I’m definitely in like. I’m very, very much in like.” 

“Patrick! Amazing! I’m so happy for you!” She jumped up from the old ratty armchair in the club green room. Her band wasn’t going on for at least another hour. “Did you um...” 

“No, nothing like that. Not yet. He kissed me though.” Patrick sank back down against the grass, suddenly feeling juvenile. All this fuss over one kiss. 

“Sounds like it was a helluva kiss, then,” she replied supportively. She smirked, her baby gay cousin was finally all grown up. 

“Remy - is this what it feels like?” He asked innocently. 

Remy smiled wide. “Do you feel like your insides are climbing out? You want to scream and laugh and go bungee jumping and stuff?” 

“To say the very least. I want to sing and paint and sculpt. I want to call him right now – I want to go see him right now. I can’t wait to see him at the store tomorrow.” 

“You’re adorable, cous,” Remy sighed. “Yeah, that sounds like you’re in full smit.” 

They talked until it was time for Remy to take the stage. Patrick told her about it being David’s birthday and the gift he’d bought for him. The way time flew by during dinner and how David was the most interesting and brilliant person he’d ever met. 

“Ok, can I just offer some advice?” She asked. 

“Huh? Oh, yeah, sure. Shoot.” He listened intently, hoping to have some queer wisdom imparted to him. 

“Are you at home?” 

“No…I’m um…I’m laying in the middle of a soccer field, actually,” he laughed. 

“I’m not gonna ask,” she chuckled. “Ok, as soon as you get back home: you need to jerk off.” 

“Remy – what? I mean…I was gonna but…huh?” 

“Yeah, good. Trust me on this. You need to work out all this nervous energy so you don't sound like a babbling idiot when you see him again.” 

“I do _ not _sound like a babbling idiot.” 

“You do though. It’s sweet, don’t get me wrong. Just…trust me. You want to be as calm as possible tomorrow.” 

“I feel the goddamned butterflies,” he said, shaking his head at himself and chuckling. “I feel alive, Remy. Like I’ve been asleep my entire life and I’m finally waking up.” 

“In many ways you are, honey. I’m so proud of you. Are you going to tell your folks?” 

He sighed. “I will. It’s just...new? Still? I mean, it’s real – if anything in my life is real, this is. I just...” 

She interrupted him. “Hey, you don’t have to explain anything to me. Believe me, I know it’s difficult. The night my dad asked me if I was gay...and we talked about it...I was terrified even though I knew he loved me. Still scary.” 

“Yeah, I don’t...I...” 

“You’ll do it when you’re ready. You know your parents are like, the best. I remember when they adopted you. You were the cutest little thing back then. Those two people love you no matter what, kiddo.” 

Patrick smiled in spite of the lump of doubt in his throat. “Yeah.” 

“Shit - they’re calling for me,” she sounded hesitant to hang up. “You’re going to be ok, right?” 

“Of course. Go. Your adoring public awaits,” he teased. “Thanks for the talk.” 

“Love you! Call me tomorrow night, if you’re not _ busy _,” she teased back. 

His cheeks burned red and he chuckled. “I love you too. No offense, but I hope I’m _ busy _ tomorrow night!” 

Patrick crashed as soon as his head hit the pillow. He lay on top of the blankets on his bed, still wearing the same clothes. 

His eyes sprang open and his heart lurched as if he knew he’d overslept before he woke up. Feeling disoriented, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and looked at the clock. 

It was 5:00 AM. 

He exhaled deeply, trying to calm down his racing pulse. 

Realizing he hadn’t changed out of his date-night clothes and he was sweaty and uncomfortable, he stripped down to his boxers and crawled between the sheets. It was certainly cooler but there was no way he was going to get back to sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, thoughts of David flooded his mind and there was no pushing them away. 

They weren’t intrusive or unwelcome thoughts. He’d never woken up so excited to see someone. The anticipation building felt like every single Christmas Eve from his childhood. It went from famine to feast; he’d spent his adolescence and entire adulthood up to that point waiting for butterflies and now that they’d arrived, he couldn’t get the damn things to leave him alone. 

He reached for his phone and opened the photo gallery. He flicked through the pictures he’d taken the last time he hiked Rattlesnake Point. It was his go-to place to be alone and think – mainly he went there to think about David. Sometimes he’d pretend David was there with him and on days he felt particularly lonely, he’d talk to himself out loud. Sometimes he’d sit there and smoke weed, thinking about a hypothetical ‘someday’ when he’d finally have the courage to tell David how he felt about him. A few times, he just sat there at the top of the trail and cried. 

He exhaled and continued flicking back in time until he found the photos he took on opening day of the store. 

There weren’t many of them – they were so busy with customers that night – he couldn’t document it all. Still he’d made sure to take a few pictures to mark the occasion. And if David happened to be in most of them, so be it. 

He was looking for one photo in particular. 

David was taking a well-earned break and he was holding a glass of wine. He didn’t know Patrick was taking his picture; didn’t know that anybody was watching him. He was leaning against the main display table looking at the gathering of folks who had come to check out the opening day sale. He smiled his satisfied, accomplished smile with one dimple showing. He looked serene. Satisfied. In that moment, Patrick thought he looked so entirely beautiful, he had to sneak a photograph. David looked over at him moments later and mouthed ‘thank you'. 

The acknowledgment meant everything to him. David was very much in charge of the store but he made it known in that single moment that he appreciated everything Patrick had done to help. He was already sure that he was going to leave his job at Ray's to work at the store full-time but any nervousness about giving up that job security faded away as David thanked him. They were partners in business and with any luck, they’d be partners in love, too. 

Patrick found the photo and stared at it, trying to remember exactly how tight his chest felt when David smiled at him. He memorized the contours of David’s face; the soft features. The cupid’s bow of his lips that Patrick wanted to get lost in. His dark chocolate brown eyes that reminded Patrick of bubbling dessert fondue. 

Before he knew it, Patrick’s hand was clasped around his shaft and he arched his neck into the pillow. He dragged his hand up and down his shaft, sliding his thumb over the tip. 

He worked his fist up and down thinking about kissing David. He hummed and moaned softly, biting his lower lip and picturing David’s face getting closer and closer to his own just before their lips met. He could feel his hand on his cheek, pulling him in and holding him in place. 

“Mm...fuck...” he sighed, tightening his grip.

He wanted to touch David like this. 

He wanted David to touch him like this. 

He threaded his fingers through his hair, scraping his nails hard against his scalp. Closing his eyes, he moved his hand faster. As his imagination took over, he felt David’s bare leg drape over his, pinning it down. A soft hand that smelled like body milk was on top of his and took over with a rapid, practiced stroke. 

David’s breath was on his neck and his tongue licked at his earlobe. 

“God, David...” he whined, keening off the bed. 

‘Shh...,” he heard David whisper. “Just feel it, baby...” 

Patrick rolled his lips inward and bit down. He kept his eyes squeezed shut and imagined David kissing down his chest. He grunted and twisted a nipple hard, imagining seeing the top of David’s head hovering over his stomach, leaving a wet trail of kisses on his skin. 

“Mm...mm...oh...fuck...” 

Before his imagination allowed David to wrap his lips around Patrick’s cock, the edges of his vision went white and his entire body began to shake. 

A moan gathered momentum deep in his gut and he was nearly rendered powerless to stifle it. He managed to grab his spare pillow and pulled it over his face while he spilled over his other hand. 

The fireworks continuing to erupt in his veins made all of the muscles in his thighs and stomach contract in orgasm. 

Starting to suffocate and very much needing to fill his lungs again, Patrick replaced the pillow and let the cooler air of his bedroom wash over his face. 

He took long, even breaths as he came down. Slowly, he sat up and saw the mess he’d made of himself. His eyes bulged at the sight of the amount of cum on his hand. Even the satisfaction he got from masturbation was better since David kissed him. 

Patrick felt pre-emptive performance anxiety about being in bed with David. It was something he knew he wanted badly but if they didn’t move more slowly at first, he knew it would be too overwhelming. 

“Oh boy, Patrick – you might be in over your head, man,” he said softly to himself and chuckled. 

After a shower, he got dressed and decided to head over to the store to stock shelves. It felt like his body was newly alive and running on pure adrenaline. He thought for a moment that he may never need sleep again. 

He was just finishing up stocking the last display case when he heard the door open behind him. A thrill shot up his spine. He looked over his shoulder and saw David. They smiled at each other when David removed his sunglasses. 

“Hi,” David’s voice sounded like a whisper. 

“Hey,” Patrick smirked a little more. He put the box of new stock down and walked towards him. 

_ Oh fuck – this feels awkward – what do I do? _ he thought. 

He laughed a small laugh and they kissed each other’s cheeks in a hello. He hoped David couldn’t hear his heart pounding in the quick second that they were pressed together. 

“So someone’s been busy,” David said quietly. 

“Oh, yeah. Yeah. I’ve been up since five. Could not sleep. Been thinking about...stuff. You know, last night.” 

David grimaced slightly and closed his eyes tight. “Regrets.” It was a statement, not a question. 

Panic rushed through him – what did he say wrong?! 

“What? No – why would I have regrets?” 

_ Dammit, Brewer – get this back on track! _

“I don’t know. I think it’s a, just a habit to ask,” David replied. 

“No, no. No, no. No regrets. No, I feel good. I feel like a weight’s been sort of lifted off my shoulders. It’s all very new, you know and it’s a lot to process but...” 

“Well here’s something fun,” David began. “Um, what if I stayed at your place tonight?” 

“Huh.” Patrick’s heart fell into his shoes. He was in no way, shape or form ready to be in a bed with David. 

_ Holy shit – um – yeah, no. How do I do this? No rushing! Rushing is bad! _Patrick thoughts were as rushed as they were ineliquent. 

“It’s just that there’s some things happening at the motel and I -” David twisted at the waist and motioned his hands behind him. 

“Yeah um, sorry David – maybe I haven’t been clear. I’m going to need to take this a lot slower than a sleepover tonight.” 

“Oh, ok no – not like a _ sleepover _ sleepover -” 

“I think it’s important that I be honest with you about how I’m feeling. Because I know that you have a lot of experience in this area but for me... 

“Oh my god no, I mean, yes I do but that’s not what I’m implying...” 

“A ding-a ding!” Mrs. Rose entered the store with her customary greeting. 

He’d never been happier to see David’s mother – saved by the bell, literally. He smiled at her. 

“Oh, hey, Mrs. Rose! I’m just taking this to the back.” He looked to David and lowered his voice. “We’ll talk about this later.” Grabbing the empty cardboard box, he walked to the stockroom and came back out with another box. He overheard the tail end of what David’s mother was saying, she wanted a tea. 

“We don’t sell tea,” David tucked his hand into his hip. 

“Uh, you know, I was going to go make a run to the Café, I could get you a tea if you want,” he offered. At that point he needed to be away from David’s cologne or he’d lose all of his resolve. 

_ Why did he have to smell so goddamned good? _

“How serendipitous, thank you Peter.” 

“It’s Patrick,” he corrected her, smiling patiently as he went to the front door. “Anything else?” 

“Nothing else for me, thank you. Just the scone,” she replied over the shoulder. 

“You mean the tea?” 

“Why not? Thank you.” 

He half-walked, half-ran across the street and waited for Twyla to place their order. He got David a coffee, hoping that David wasn’t going to throw it in his face as soon as his mother left. Rejected for sex on what was supposed to be Day One of their relationship. 

_ Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! This was already a disaster! _

Twyla pushed the tray with three hot drinks in it towards him and he paid her. “Thanks, Twyla. See you at lunch!” 

His smile faded as he walked out of the Café and headed back to the store. He had to talk to David right away and not let this go too long. He almost wished Mrs. Rose would be gone when he got back so they could talk right away. 

Unfortunately, she was still there upon his return and the two of them seemed to be embroiled in an intense conversation. He handed her the cup of tea and gave David his coffee, making sure to repeat his overly complicated order, just to show him that he cared and that he paid attention. 

_ God, David I want to sleep with you...just not yet! _

He wondered if Twyla could have written that sentence in caramel on top of the coffee. Or on the side of the cup. 

Sensing that the Roses needed privacy, Patrick took his own tea and the unnecessary scone to the back room. He pressed his back to the wall and tried to quiet himself. His heart raced. Of _ course _ David was ready for sex. He knew who he was a long time before Patrick did. He hoped and prayed that David would understand that Patrick just needed time. 

His ears perked up when he heard her voice getting louder. 

“...killing a man! Over a complimentary bolus!” 

_ Wait, what the fuck? _

He listened with interest and concern, eventually understanding exactly what David meant when he said there were things going on at the motel. 

_ That’s why he wants to stay over! There’s a dead body! He wants to sleep over literally over someone’s dead body. _

Feeling one hundred times better about his entire exchange with David before his mother arrived, Patrick stepped back out to the main part of the store and stopped both of them from spiraling out. Once he’d put out the fires, David’s mother left with one final comment that she probably didn’t intend for Patrick to hear. 

“Alexis was right: he’s a button.” 

Patrick gave David a flirty grin and went back to the stock room. When he came back out again a few minutes later, David was staring at the display table. 

“So you told your mom about us?” 

“No, I told _ Alexis _ about us and she likely told my mom,” David said obviously hiding a smirk. 

They stood a little too close while they cleared the air. David looked nervous but Patrick just smiled at him. 

“You know, when you kissed me,” Patrick began, his voice doing that unintentional deep whisper again. “That felt like my first time. All the things that you’re supposed to feel, I felt them last night.” 

They continued speaking briefly and it was all Patrick could do to keep a distance between them. By the time David said he respected him and thought he was nice, it was very clear that Patrick could hold him and kiss him again. He put his arms around David’s waist and kissed him. Excited tingles shot up his arms at the casually intimate proximity. 

“I just need you to say ‘nice person,’” David said. 

“You’re a good person,” Patrick said, holding him tighter. 

“That’s not nice.” 

Patrick kissed him again and David put his arms around his neck, deepening the kiss. 

“Maybe we need to define ‘going slow’,” David said pulling his mouth away. “Because...um...” He looked down. 

Patrick’s eyes widened when he realized that David’s half-hard cock was pressing against him. 

“Oh -” He fought to keep his train of thought from derailing. He moved his hands from the small of David’s back to this waist, giving them both a bit more breathing room. 

“Yeah. Um...I’m really into you. Very, very into you. But you’re driving. If I go too fast, or if you feel like I’m...I’m pushing you, you need to tell me.” He gestured frantically with his hands. “The very last thing I want to do is fuck this up.” 

Patrick smiled and bit his lip. “Ok. Thank you. Um. This is a big deal. I’m very into you too, obviously,” he chuckled nervously. “I don’t really know how to...how to...” 

David nodded. “Well, I mean I could like, talk you through the um...ins and outs...” He twirled his two pointer fingers around each other. 

“No, I’ve got that part,” Patrick chuckled. “I don’t know how to stop myself from taking you into the back room and pinning you against the wall,” he said frankly. David’s eyebrows shot upward in surprise. 

“Well then,” he gave him a lopsided grin. 

“Mm-hmm. I do want you, David. I’m afraid we’re going to have to figure this out as we go. If we’re going too fast, I’ll tell you. Just um...be patient with me?” 

David lightly pulled him in by the front of his shirt and they both smiled into the kiss. “I can handle that.” 

They stayed that way, kissing each other lightly until the next customer came in. David pulled away first.

"To be continued," he whispered. 


	14. Gotcha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few months after Meet the Parents, Patrick takes David back home for a family get-together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song lyrics were of course, written by our Noah Reid.

“Clint, honey?”

“Yeah, Marce?”

“Did you remember to put fresh sheets on the bed in Patrick’s room?”

“Yep.”

“And did you open the windows in there? It gets stuffy when it’s hot...”

“Took care of it. All set,” Clint replied and stretched out on the new sofa. The old one wasn’t long enough for him to lay down comfortably – the new sofa was a heavenly cloud wrapped in navy microfiber.

Marcy had been cleaning the house for what felt like a month. She dusted every surface, laundered every curtain and scrubbed every windowsill.

He understood, she always made a fuss when Patrick was coming home for a visit when he was still at university. She wanted things to be just-so. This time though, he felt she was working herself needlessly into a tizzy; cleaning things that were already clean. He heard the sound of some of her pots clattering to the floor and she exclaimed in frustration.

“Marcy - relax. C’mere and sit with me,” he called out to her.

“I will. In a few minutes. I just have to finish these cabinets.”

He pursed his lips and sat up, turning towards the kitchen. He knew for a fact that the cabinet doors were clean – he'd helped her wipe down the ones that were too high for her to reach two days earlier.   
He put the remote on the coffee table and pushed his hands deep into his pockets as he walked into the kitchen.

“What’s all this about?” He asked her. She turned; a light flush of exertion colored her face. Not satisfied that just the cabinet doors were clean, she’d been emptying them and cleaning the insides of the cabinets. 

“What do you mean?” She smirked at him, caught.  
He gently waved his arm generally indicating the kitchen area.

“It’s just a party. We’ve had dozens of them before. What are you anxious-cleaning about?” He asked, sliding into a kitchen chair.

Marcy relaxed her shoulders when she became aware of the tension she’d been holding onto. Clint smiled warmly, his blue eyes shining affectionately as he watched relief wash over her face.

She put down the rag she was using and pushed herself between her husband’s legs and wrapped her arms around his neck, giving him a soft kiss.

“The boys are coming here. It’s more than just a party. Patrick hasn’t been home in ages,” she touched her forehead to his and he nudged the tip of his nose against hers.

“There’s really something between them, huh? Paddy looks so much happier when we Facetime now,” Clint observed. 

Marcy let her head drop to his shoulder, sighing softly.

“I think they’re going to get married,” she said, smiling and pressing a kiss to his neck.

“You think?” He held her closer, interlocking his fingers behind her back.

“Oh, definitely. Patrick hasn’t said it outright, but he’s clearly head over heels.” 

The thought of his son’s happiness made Clint’s chest swell with pride. He tried to be the most supportive father he could be but, he always knew something wasn’t quite right between Patrick and Rachel. The more he thought about it, he came to the conclusion that Marcy was probably right.

“What do you need my help with before tomorrow? I’ll set up the tent and clean off the tables and chairs, anything else?”

“No, I’ve got it. I just...I want David to feel at home here,” Marcy said, sounding concerned.

“If he loves Patrick as much as he seems to, he’ll be fine.”

* * *

“Did I overpack?” David pressed his hands to his cheeks looking at the three bags in Patrick’s trunk.

“No, not at all. I mean, what if my cousins all show up to the barbeque wearing seasonally inappropriate, straight off the runway sweaters? That would be embarrassing. Better to be prepared,” Patrick said, taking a long swig out of his bottle of water.

David turned to him, still holding his face in his hands with an eyebrow raised and his eyes narrowed in a piercing look. After a quick beat, they both laughed and Patrick pulled David into him with a finger hooked in the belt loop of his jeans.

“You’re mean. I’m nervous,” David said, letting his arms rest around Patrick’s shoulders.

“Don’t be. I love you; they’ll love you.” Patrick shrugged and kissed his mouth. David inhaled the fresh scent of Patrick’s new aftershave down to his toes. 

“I love you too. Are you sure we’ll find a hostess gift for your mom on the way?” He asked, sounding unsure. “We could hop over to the store quick and I could throw another gift basket together – she really seemed to like that blackberry jam.”

“There are plenty of places to stop on the way, David. I promise,” Patrick nuzzled David’s stubbled cheek with his nose.

“Ok. But what if I can’t find exactly the correct gift for her?”

Patrick chuckled and let his right hand drift up under David’s sweater and he scratched his back lightly.

David purred and kissed his mouth.

“I’m overthinking again,” he declared.

“Yes you are. And it’s adorable – but we’re already going to get in around midnight, we should get going.

“Ok.” David bit his lip, clearly feeling more than a little trepidation. 

“David, Honey,” Patrick’s hazel eyes softened even more than usual and he caressed his cheek with the back of his fingers. “Everything is going to be great. Don’t be nervous.”

He struggled to keep the tears at bay; Patrick’s words were soothing and he trusted him completely. Whatever disaster his internal monologue was forecasting, David allowed himself to smile and exhale.

“Let’s go then,” he sighed.

* * *

“Marcy, they’re not going to get here any faster if you stare out the window all night,” Clint rubbed his eyes and stretched his arms over his head.

“Patrick hasn’t called to check in in three hours,” she said without looking back at him. She lifted herself up on the balls of her feet and craned her neck to look down the street. 

“Because you were supposedly going to bed at eight-thirty, Goose.”

He hadn’t called her that nickname in a long time. It made her smile and tampered the worried feeling in her chest.

“I just want to know he’s safe, that’s all.”

“Honey,” Clint spoke patiently and without any scolding tone in his voice. “Patrick is a good driver. You taught him. Maybe they stopped to eat or get coffee. I’m sure they’re ok, just come to bed with me.”

He kissed her cheek lightly and took her hand, guiding her down the hall to their bedroom. She didn’t protest but she kept her eyes trained on the front window until they turned the corner.

* * *

“David, try it once more,” Patrick peeked out from under the open hood. He had a flashlight clenched between his cheek and his shoulder. David blew out a breath and closed his eyes as he turned the key.

Nothing happened.

Patrick growled and whacked the car engine with the wrench in his hand. He’d just taken it in for a tune-up and Bob said the car was in good shape.

“I…I’m out of ideas,” he grumbled and let the hood slam shut. He turned and sat on the front bumper, cursing under his breath. He chewed on his thumbnail until he heard the car door shut and David was beside him.

“What should we do?” David asked and slipped his hand in the crook of Patrick’s elbow. 

“I guess I have to call a tow truck or something,” Patrick kicked a rock down the breakdown lane.

“Ok, um…” David's shoulder shot up protectively when he thought he saw a bug fly into his periphery. Patrick put his opposite hand on top of David’s and rubbed it while he thought.

“Maybe I’ll just call my Dad to come get you and I’ll wait for the tow truck,” he said, knowing how spooked David was by flying insects.

“No – no, I’ll wait with you.” He tried to smile but he felt the fluttering of a mosquito’s wings against his cheek and he cowered into Patrick’s chest. Patrick kissed the top of his head.

“It’s ok. Dad'll come get you and I probably won’t have to wait long.”

Patrick stood back upright and slid behind the wheel of his car while David hurriedly returned to the seat beside him. He was trying not to panic but the road was dark and narrow. His brain was always ready to catastrophize.

Patrick stared at the screen of his phone for a minute before dialing his father’s cell number. Clint answered on the fifth ring, a sure sign he’d been sleeping.

“Paddy?” His groggy voice barely masked his concern. Patrick grimaced when he heard his mother’s voice in the background.

“What’s going on?” She yawned. “Is that Patrick?”

“Dad, I’m about twenty-five minutes from home. Having some engine trouble. Do you think you could come get David while I wait for a tow truck?”

Clint got out of bed after Patrick gave him approximate directions to their location and he massaged the sore spot in his lumbar spine with both hands before pulling on a pair of sweats.

“You can’t just leave Patrick on the side of the road waiting for CAA,” Marcy said.

“Do you want to come then?” He asked. “Either you bring David back here, or wait with Patrick,” he offered.

She didn’t need to think long. She threw on a bra and ran a comb through her hair. Clint was tying his shoes while she went to the kitchen and threw some string cheese and two plastic bottles of Patrick’s favorite flavored seltzer into a reusable shopping tote.

He smirked at her and she rolled her eyes.

“Shut up,” she blushed and laughed at herself. “I’m a mother, this is what I do.” She added two crisp apples to the bag.

David had fallen asleep on Patrick’s shoulder while they waited for his parents. CAA gave him a ridiculously long estimated wait time and he hoped they’d arrive much sooner. He shielded his eyes from the brightness of the headlights on his father’s SUV and felt a little bit of relief when he recognized the license plate. Spots danced in front of his eyes from the light and he squeezed the bridge of his nose.  
He felt terrible about waking his father but he felt even more guilty seeing his mother sitting in the passenger seat. Waving and flashing a smile, he kissed David’s forehead and lightly shook his arm.

“David? Your ride is here,” he said, brushing strands of David’s deflated hair off his forehead.

David groaned and yawned without opening his eyes. Patrick slipped out of the car without jostling him too much. He smiled wide at both of his parents and held his arms out, offering a hug. Marcy double-stepped and wrapped her arms around her boy. She was so excited to see him, she could have cried. Clint ruffled Patrick’s hair and kissed his cheek.

“Ok, ok, let’s move the love fest to the side of the road – it's dark out here,” he looked up and down the street as he ushered his family over to the shoulder. 

David waved awkwardly from inside the car. He didn’t want to be rude but...bugs. Marcy squeezed Patrick’s arm and opened David’s door, leaning in to kiss his cheek. Patrick popped in the driver’s side to pull the hood release lever so his father could take a look.

“Not exactly the way we expected your first visit to begin,” she said smiling.

“Yeah, he’s upset,” David lifted his chin in Patrick’s direction. “Thank you for coming to get us,” he said, trying to keep his eyes on her rather than scanning the distance for creepy crawlers and things with wings.

“Snack?” Marcy’s mouth quirked up on one side and she held the bag out to David. He nodded appreciatively and took a bite out of one of the apples.

“Well son, it could be a few things.” Clint fiddled under the hood while Patrick held a flashlight. He disconnected the battery tester, as that proved not to be the problem. “If I had to guess, I’d say it’s your fuel pump. Maybe the alternator.”

“Damn,” Patrick said. 

“We can do it together. Tomorrow after the party or Sunday morning?” Clint offered. Patrick nodded.

“How much longer til CAA gets here?” He asked. Patrick checked his phone. 

“They told me 1:45-ish,” Patrick replied. 

Clint raised a brow and looked at the back of his wrist, then realized he didn’t have his watch on. “Hold on, just a minute.” 

He stepped away and pulled his phone out. Patrick closed the hood and made sure it was latched down. He heard his father talking to someone.

“Jerry - hey. Clint Brewer,” he said. “Jerry, who’s on tow patrol tonight? Listen, my son and his boyfriend are stuck on the side of the road – I think it’s the fuel pump. Is there any way you can pick up his car and bring it to my house? Yeah. CAA is taking too long – these guys have to get to bed and Marcy’s - thanks. Thanks a lot Jerry, I owe you. Yeah, just right in front of the house will be fine. White Hyundai. Perfect, Thanks.”

Patrick heard his father give his friend their location and he hung up the phone. “All set – call and cancel the tow.” He winked and called to Marcy.

“C’mon Goose. TPS’s sending a truck. Let’s get back home.” He went back to the SUV and pulled around to the back of Patrick’s car. Patrick popped the trunk and Clint took out their bags.

“Did I miss something? I thought you were just staying for the weekend?” He turned to Patrick holding two bags and saw two more still in the trunk. 

Patrick turned to David, who looked at Marcy and blushed. She laughed and hooked her hand in David’s elbow. 

“A man after my own heart,” she joked. “Options.” David laughed and climbed into the backseat, where he waited for Patrick. 

“Thanks Pops,” Patrick helped his father stuff the second two bags into the back of the truck.

“Sure thing, kiddo. Make sure you’re all locked up before we go.”

Patrick slid in next to David and their hands found each other. Patrick stroked David’s thumb with his own while they rode quietly. 

“I can’t wait to see everybody tomorrow,” Patrick said, covering his mouth as he yawned mid-sentence.

“I’m glad you want to have your party this year,” Marcy turned and smiled at them both.

“Yeah, it’s been a while, huh?” Patrick rubbed the back of his neck and looked out the window. David felt a little confused by what Marcy said but he figured he was half-awake and had misheard.

A bit less than a half-hour later, they were pulling into the driveway and David felt Patrick kiss him awake again.

“David? Wake up baby, we’re here,” he whispered softly, kissing him again.

Marcy didn’t turn towards the back seat but she gave Clint a sideways glance and they both smiled at each other.

“Off to bed, you three. I’ll wait up for the tow truck,” Clint climbed out and stretched the sore spot in his back again.

“No, Dad – I can do that.”

Clint shook his head. “It’s ok, Paddy. Go to bed. I’ve got this.”

Patrick began to protest but Marcy interrupted him and asked David what he wanted for breakfast. 

“Bacon and eggs? Pancakes? What can I make you, sweetheart?” She unlocked the front door and David followed her inside with one of his bags in hand.

“What am I? Chopped liver?” Patrick asked, teasing. “Is David the only one who gets breakfast?” 

His mother turned to him with a raised eyebrow.

“Well, do you want something other than cornflakes with 2% milk and a banana?”

Patrick moved as if to retort but David chuckled and he turned red. “No, I guess not,” he laughed at himself.

“Then I’ll thank you to mind your own beeswax,” she teased him. “David, dear?”

“Um...” He thought. Patrick’s words from very early on in the drive came back to him.

“My mom makes the world’s best French toast,” he’d said. David smirked.

“Could I possibly impose upon you for some French toast?” He asked. Marcy smiled with tired, blue eyes. 

“Patrick told you, huh?” She asked looking over at her son, who was grinning.

“C’mon Ma, I’m not going to change my breakfast routine for just anything,” he said. 

She shook her head. “Ok. French toast it is. Go get some sleep, my boys.” She kissed Patrick’s cheeks and didn’t hesitate in taking David’s face in her hands and kissing his cheeks, too.

“Goodnight, Mrs. Brewer,” David smiled.

“Goodnight David. G'night BOY!” She called to Patrick, who was already half-way down to his room.

“Night, MA!” He called back with a laugh. 

David had packed pajamas but he was the bone-deep kind of tired that didn’t allow him to have the energy for anything other than getting into Patrick’s old bed once he'd stripped down to his t-shirt and boxers. Patrick kissed him goodnight and they lay silently next to each other, waiting for sleep to take them. 

He opened his eyes when he heard David giggling.

“What?” he asked. David pointed up at the ceiling above his bed. “Oh, that.”

Above Patrick’s bed, barely held on by the yellowing tape, was a cut out of Jennifer Aniston from Maxim magazine.

“Things have changed,” David gently elbowed him.

“Just a little,” Patrick agreed and kissed him again. He rolled to his side and pulled David into his chest. He kissed his neck sweetly and sleep came easily soon after that.

Patrick disappeared from the breakfast table before David finished eating his second plate of stuffed French toast. His boyfriend hadn’t been exaggerating – it was the best he’d ever eaten. 

“Where did Patrick go?” Marcy asked, settling in across from him with two cups of coffee.

David shrugged. “I fink he’s wooking at the piano,” he replied, holding a hand in front of his mouth and he chewed.

“I should have guessed,” she said, sipping.

“What did you mean,” David began when he swallowed his food. “That Patrick didn’t want _his_ party? I thought this was just a family barbeque. Is this a party for him?” It was a couple of months since the surprise party David had planned for him.

“Oh, he didn’t tell you?” Marcy looked concerned. “Um...” 

Patrick reappeared in the kitchen and kissed David’s rumpled bedhead. 

“You didn’t tell David the reason for the party today?” Marcy asked him.

“Oh, it’s my Gotcha Day...” Patrick said casually as he stole a strawberry from David’s plate. David cocked his head at him.

“Your...?” he asked.

“You know I’m adopted,” Patrick said, biting the strawberry in half.

“Yeah, you told me on our first date,” David replied. He saw Marcy smile from the corner of his eye.

“My Gotcha Day is the anniversary of my official adoption,” he explained. 

“That’s so cute!” David cuddled closer to him and Patrick let his arm rest on the back of David’s chair.

“I thought I told you I had two parties sometimes when I was a kid,” Patrick said, finishing off the strawberry. 

“I thought you meant two birthday parties. You didn’t specify.”

Patrick nodded. 

“He hasn’t wanted the second party for a while,” Marcy confirmed.

“I thought it would be a good time for David to meet everybody,” Patrick tried dipping his index finger into the fresh whipped cream on David’s plate but David playfully slapped his hand away. They giggled at each other and kissed sweetly.

“Paddy, did you want some more?” His mother asked, trying to hide her smile behind her coffee mug.

“No thanks, Mom. It tastes so much better if I’m stealing it from him,” Patrick laughed.

David’s head was spinning two hours into the party. He knew Patrick had a larger extended family but there were too many aunts, uncles and cousins to keep up with. Fortunately, Patrick was completely attuned to his anxiety and didn’t leave his side. He found sweet ways to include David in on the conversations and always had his hand on the small of his back. 

Patrick went to get another beer for himself and David relaxed into a patio chair.

“Hi David.”

He turned towards a woman’s friendly voice.

“Hi,” he replied shyly.

“I’m Remy,” she sat next to him carefully. A sleeping baby was in a sling across her chest. “I figured I’d give you a chance to settle in before I came over. You looked a little overwhelmed.”

“I was...a bit,” he confessed. He politely smiled and snuck a peek at the tuft of hair at the top of its head.

“This is Lennon,” she said sweetly. David remembered how excited Patrick was when his newest cousin was born.

They spoke until Patrick returned and Remy looked up at him.

“Shit, did I take your seat?” She started to get up.

“No, no you sit,” he said. He stood next to David and casually ran his fingers against the short dark hair at the back of his head.

“So, Patrick, have you been writing any music lately?” She asked.

Patrick swallowed a sip and shook his head. “It’s been a while. I still play when we have our Open Mic Nights at the store but I haven’t written a song in a while.”

“Anything you can share? Honestly, I need new music in my life. I can’t gig until he’s sleeping through the night and Jessie doesn’t let me blast my stuff in the house – she says it’ll make him aggro.”

“Um, well,” Patrick hesitated.

“C’mon, it’s me...” Remy smirked.

“Ok, um...yeah. Let’s go.” Patrick reached for David’s hand and led them both to the piano room.

“Ooh! Is Paddy playing a concert?” Asher asked when they walk by him. Nobody answered but he and Arielle followed them down the hall.

Patrick looked nervous when he sat down and played a few chords to check if the piano was tuned, it was.

“I wrote this one...a while back.” He cleared his throat and started to play a beautifully sad melody. He closed his eyes as he sang.

“Well it's mostly in the mornin'  
When your eyes ain't openin'  
But it's mostly that you won't even try  
And it's mostly in the gutter  
With your voice broke you sing  
Now it's mostly to yourself that you lie

You say fuck it man you're better off  
It's better this way  
You're mostly in the shadows and that's fine  
Or you say fuck it man you're not fine  
But you're doin' it your way  
Yeah it's mostly to yourself that you lie  
It's mostly to yourself that you lie

You put your keys on the counter  
Check your phone  
And you surround yourself with sounds  
Just to be sure you're not alone  
'Cause when it's quiet and you're reminded  
Of all the things that you won't do  
You just let 'em pass you by  
Or you reach halfway and say  
Fuck it man you tried

And you let yourself off easy  
And when your heart is on the ground  
You say this won't last forever  
Just give it time  
But time keeps movin' forward  
And you mostly come around  
But it's mostly to yourself that you lie  
It's mostly to yourself that you lie  
It's mostly to yourself that you lie  
It's mostly to yourself that you lie...”

Remy wiped a tear from her eye and David sniffled.

“You need to record that, Patrick. It’s beautiful,” Arielle cuddled under Asher’s arm. “Who made you so sad?” 

“Oh, um...see my ex, Rachel,” he began with a worried look in David’s direction.

Remy scoffed and said something that might have been _putain_. David raised his eyebrows and smirked at her.

“Not a fan?” He asked, chuckling.

Remy’s cheeks turned red and she kissed the top of Lennon’s head. “It’s not that I didn’t like her, she just wasn’t a great fit.”

Asher laughed under his breath and tried stifling a harder laugh but he couldn’t. Remy rolled her eyes.

“Asher - grow _up_!” She laughed at her brother. “Ew!”   
David turned a little red and Patrick rubbed the back of his neck.

“The song isn’t about Rachel, you guys,” Patrick said, running his hand back and forth over the top of his head. He carefully explained what had happened when she showed up unexpectedly in Schitt’s Creek.

“Oh no, David – that must have been so awful for you!” Arielle put a hand up to her throat.

“Well, it wasn’t fun,” he agreed.

“Anyway,” Patrick got their attention back. “We split up for what felt like a year. And I wrote this.”

David took a sharp intake of air. “This song is about me?” He asked. Patrick nodded.

“I missed you.”

David moved around the piano as fast as his feet would take him. He put his arms around Patrick’s neck and sat across his lap. 

“I missed you too.” They kissed softly.  
Remy and Asher exchanged knowing looks. They knew Patrick had found his perfect match.

“Ok, ok lovebirds – knock it off!” Cody called from the doorway. The pair broke apart, giggling.

“Patrick, play that song you wrote about me when we were in college,” Asher said.

“Yeah?” 

David reluctantly rose from Patrick’s lap and he sat next to him on the piano bench. Patrick started to play and Asher spoke to his wife, rubbing a hand lovingly over her pregnant belly.

“Keep in mind before you hear this, I’m a different guy now,” Asher told her.

“I think I told you baby you're the one  
That I've been thinkin' of  
But I oughta tell you when it's said and done  
That you're never gonna get my love

Remember when I held you tight  
And you couldn't get enough  
It doesn't matter what I said that night  
'Cause you're never gonna get my love...”

“Ash-er! That’s awful!” Arielle laughed at the song lyrics and elbowed her husband.

“At least this one wasn’t about me!” David joked and rested his head on Patrick’s shoulder.

“My brother’s fuckboi anthem,” Remy rolled her eyes. Jessie had joined them in the piano room and she was cradling baby Lennon in her arms.

Patrick played a few more songs and soon everyone in attendance was crowding around the piano, singing along with varying skill levels.   
Clint cleared his throat while Marcy passed around champagne flutes. David shimmied his shoulders and made Patrick snort.

“Alright, this seems as good a time as any for the toast,” he began. “Patrick, your mother and I fell in love with you the minute we met you. The day you came to live with us filled this house with life and the day you became officially ours made our family complete. We are so proud of you and everything you’ve accomplished. Now you’re here with us with the love of your life and we wish you a Happy Gotcha Day.” He raised his glass.

“To Patrick!” Marcy said with tears in her eyes.

Everyone did the same.

“To _my_ Patrick,” David whispered, speaking just long enough after everyone else to be heard. Patrick winked and kissed him.

Long after the party ended and David received a dizzying number of cheek kisses from Patrick’s relatives, they were laying in his bed, arms around each other and legs interlocked.

“Am I really? What your dad said about me?” David asked.

“Hmm?” Patrick was almost too occupied sucking on David’s collarbone.

“You know…the um…love of your life?” He said it in a mocking tone, just in case Patrick brushed it off or couldn’t lie convincingly. 

“You’re damn right you are. Of course you are, David.”

David grinned stupidly. “Of course I am….what?” 

Patrick chuckled, pulled David infinitely closer and pushed his tongue past his teeth.

“The love of my life, David Rose. You’re the love of my life.”


	15. It Couldn't Please Me More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marcy and Clint traveled to Schitt's Creek to see a performance of Cabaret.

Clint flipped through the pages of the program with a content smile on his face. It had been a long time since he’d sat in an auditorium next to his wife ready to watch Patrick perform. He tried to remember the name of the play Patrick did his senior year of high school. It was an impressive performance for a group of teenagers. He leaned over to ask Marcy if she remembered the title, but stopped when he saw his wife deep in conversation with David. 

The tall, perfectly coiffed man who would soon be his son-in-law was speaking in a hushed voice but the way he and Marcy were both looking at the four gold rings on his left hand led Clint to believe that she was getting the full story of how Patrick proposed. 

The once-blond, now mostly grey-haired man smiled his small, contented smile. He raised one hand to his mouth and hid his upturned lips behind his fingers. 

_Never saw this one coming_, he thought to himself. 

It didn’t matter, wouldn’t matter, _ couldn’t _ matter that his son was in love with and engaged to another man. It didn’t change one single thing about who Patrick was or how proud he was of him. 

He just didn’t see it coming. 

He liked David right away when they met in person. He even admired him. It took a lot of courage to show up at their motel room before the surprise party. David had no way of knowing what kind of disgusting confrontation he’d be facing if he and Marcy were the kind of people that would disown a gay child. It made Clint sick to his stomach to think that there were people out there like that and even in his advancing age, he felt the urge to punch every last one of them in the face. His personal parenting philosophy hadn’t changed since the day they decided to start foster parenting classes: 

‘Love your kids for who they are, or don’t have them at all.’ 

Watching Patrick struggle to say the words ‘we’re together. David is my boyfriend’ nearly cracked him in two. He wanted to bang a fist on the table and yell at him for ever being afraid that it would change a damned thing between them. Luckily, after being with Marcy for nearly 40 years, he’d mellowed. He wasn’t really angry at Patrick for keeping his private life private, he was just a little hurt that Patrick was worried about coming out. The three of them had a long, honest, and frank conversation over breakfast the next day while David watched the store. 

The other thing he didn’t see coming was standing shoulder to shoulder with his brother-in-law at the local Pride festival wearing matching “Free Dad Hugs” t-shirts with the other PFLAG dads. Some of the people who approached him for hugs were laughing and very sweet, some of them openly sobbed. All Clint could think to do was hold on until they let go first. He still thought about one young boy in particular from time to time. 

“My Dad hates me,” he said through tears as Clint held him. 

“Your Dad is missing out. I’m sorry,” Clint replied rubbing his back. He was unsure of the right thing to say, if there was a right thing to say. 

They talked for a few minutes, the boy hugged Artie too and even got a Free Mom Hug from Marcy when she came back from the lemonade stand. The boy’s friends found him and knowingly put their protective arms around him before pulling him over to the main stage where a drag queen show was about to begin. Clint was relieved that at least the boy seemed to have a group of supportive people in his life. 

He excused himself to collect his thoughts and he shot Patrick a text. 

_ I love you, Paddy. _

As an afterthought, he took a quick selfie giving a wide smile and a thumbs up at his phone camera. Patrick responded almost right away with a similar thumbs-up selfie. 

** Love you too, Pops. Nice shirt. **

“Clint, honey -” 

Marcy’s voice pulled him out of his head. 

“Mm?” 

“I was just telling David about when Patrick was in _ Our Town _ when he was in high school.” 

“_ Our Town!” _ Clint said, sounding relieved. “I was sitting here trying to remember the name of it. You’re right. It was _ Our Town.” _

Marcy smiled and squeezed his wrist. 

“Patrick looked _ so cute _ in his costume. Page boy cap and overalls. Of course, he was really good in the play, too.” Marcy giggled and David grinned. 

“He was _ excellent _,” Clint added. 

“Sounds like a quite a performance,” David said. “Patrick is so excited to see you for dinner after the show. He’s - _ we’re _really glad you could come.” 

“We wouldn’t miss it, David,” Clint said with a wink. 

David smiled at him and looked like he was about to speak when the auditorium lights dimmed and they all directed their attention to the empty stage. 

Slowly, ornate lights above the stage reading “Kit Kat Klub” came to life. As the music in the orchestra pit began, Patrick walked onstage followed by a cast of scantily clad dancers. 

“Meine damen und herren, mes dames et messieurs, ladies and gentlemen!” He said with his arms spread wide. Marcy grabbed for her husband’s knee and squeezed it. 

Watching Patrick singing and dancing left David just as entranced this time as it did the first time he saw the show. David had a _ relationship _with Patrick’s costume. It did things to him. With each performance, he noticed new things and different nuances that Patrick brought to the role of the Emcee. Patrick winked at Alexis and swatted at Twyla’s ass, always with an amused expression on his face. By the third time David saw the show from the same seat, Patrick knew where to look to find his fiancé in the crowd and made every effort to make eye contact for a particularly aggressive series of hip thrusts. It made David squirm in his seat and blush a little, which of course was Patrick’s goal. 

Marcy’s chest swelled with pride. She stole a sideways look at Clint, who raised his eyebrows at her and winked. As the opening song ended and everyone applauded she took the opportunity to whisper to him. 

“He looks so confident up there!” 

Clint nodded and kissed her cheek. 

Patrick stood in the wings watching Stevie and the other girls during ‘Don’t Tell Mama’. It was his favorite number in the show that we wasn’t involved in. Stevie might have been reluctant to take the role, but she truly shined as Sally. 

He lowered his head and looked out into the audience to find the three faces he needed to see. David was beaming of course; incredibly proud of Stevie. His mom had one hand over her mouth, stifling a laugh, clearly enjoying the show. Patrick smiled to himself as he saw his dad take his mom’s hand and raise it to his lips. He stood a little taller. 

Everything was ok. 

He was lightly patting his face with a paper towel, careful not to smudge his makeup when Alexis tapped him once on the shoulder with her delicate pointer finger. 

“Great show so far, Mr. Emcee.” She smiled and eased herself into a chair next to him at the makeup table. 

“Yeah, you too Fritzie,” he returned the smile, referring to her by her character name. 

“Are you nervous yet?” She asked. 

“Nervous about what? Getting married?” He didn’t look over at her as he reapplied eyeliner to the lower lid of his right eye. 

“No - about ‘Two Ladies’, it’s almost time.” 

“Why would I be nervous about that?” 

“I dunno – it's a song about a three-way in front of your parents,” Alexis fixed her lipstick and set it with powder. 

“_ Alexis _ -” 

She opened her eyes wide and grinned with her hands up in an innocent ‘I surrender’ pose. Her hands flopped over limp at the wrist and she picked a piece of lint from his costume. 

“I was just wondering if it felt...I dunno, awkward or whatever.” She shrugged and resumed checking her make-up in the mirror. 

“No more awkward than doing ‘If You Could See Her’ in front of your Dad.” Patrick replied. 

“Good point. I didn’t think about that. I didn’t really know what this was all about until now. I mean, I saw it in New York way, way back in the day but I guess I wasn’t paying attention.” 

“It’s heavier subject matter for sure. But good art is supposed to hold up a mirror to society, right?” 

Alexis chuckled. “I literally can’t even begin to comprehend how completely and thoroughly David would agree with that sentiment, Patrick.” Patrick shrugged a shoulder, knowingly. “You’re really going to marry my brother.” 

“I’m gonna marry the hell out of your brother,” Patrick replied. 

“I’m glad. ‘Cuz I like you.” She bopped him on the nose. 

“Emcee, places!” The stressed out looking Assistant Stage Manager said as she poked her head into the dressing room. 

“Thank you, places,” Patrick replied. He pulled a baby pink feather boa off of the costume rack and draped it over his shoulders. “See you out there!” He bopped Alexis on the nose as he walked past. 

He hadn’t been nervous about possibly making his parents uncomfortable during ‘Two Ladies’. He hadn’t at all. 

Until Alexis went and planted that grenade in his head. 

Then before he could diffuse said grenade, he was on stage between Marco and Twyla groping and thrusting their way through the number. 

Internally, Patrick cringed as he sang “I sleep in the middle.” He dropped to the stage with his legs outstretched in front of him. 

“I’m left,” Twyla said taking Patrick’s left leg. 

“Und I’m right,” Marco took his other leg. 

“But zere’s room on da bottom if you drop in some night!” Marco and Twyla lifted Patrick’s legs as high as they’d go and Patrick blew a kiss to the audience. 

The three of them bowed at the end of the song and the audience was laughing and applauding. He had been avoiding looking up at his parents with all of his might but he snuck a quick look. His father was laughing so hard he couldn’t clap. His mom put her pinky fingers in her mouth and blew a loud wolf whistle. Patrick pointed up at David, giving a salacious wink and licked his lips before exiting. David arched a brow and crossed his arms over his chest, smiling and shaking his head. 

_ That costume is definitely coming home with us after the wrap party tomorrow. _David thought. 

At intermission, Clint went to the washroom and Marcy stepped out for a second glass of wine at the bar in the lobby. David whipped his phone out of his pocket and sent Patrick a text. 

_ Honey, you are on FIRE tonight! This is the best performance yet! I am so proud of you! _

To his surprise, Patrick replied. 

** xoxo thanks baby. **

_ Don’t let my mother see you on your phone! No phones in 1930’s Berlin! _

** Was there Valium in 1930’s Berlin? ** ** Bc ** ** I’m pretty sure she just took another one. Stole a sip of Alexis’s water to wash it down. **

_ Oh god. I’ll let my Dad know. _

** My parents look like they’re enjoying it. **

_ They are. Because you’re amazing! _

** I love you. Lots. Can’t wait for tonight. **

_ I know! You really built up this mystery dinner, Mr. Secretive. _

** I was referring to AFTER dinner. **

_ I’m sure you were but I don’t want to be sporting a anticipatory semi with your parents sitting next to me. _

_ An* _

_ See? You’ve got me all worked up already! _

** Fair enough. Ok, time to start stretching for the A2 ** ** kickline ** ** . Love you, ** ** fiance ** ** . **

_ Love you more, _ _ fiance _ _ . _

** Impossible. **

** Hey David? **

_ Yeah? _

** I will wake one day, look around and say, ‘somebody wonderful married me.’ **

David stared at the screen of his phone with a stupid happy look on his face. 

“Oh, I know that look.” 

David looked up when he heard Marcy’s voice and tried to hide a bashful smile. 

“Paddy makes the same face when you text him.” She sat and held out the glass of wine she bought for David. He thanked her and Clint returned to his seat a minute later. 

“I didn’t know what to expect but, this show is excellent. Your mother is a damn good director, David,” he said with a nod. 

“Thank you. She’s...yes. When she’s on, she’s really on.” He sipped his wine. 

“When did Patrick learn to dance? He looks great up there,” Clint nodded towards the stage. 

“I’m just as surprised as anybody – those tree trunk legs of his,” David joked. 

Marcy giggled into her glass. “His costume is...something.” 

David rolled his lips inward and nodded. Sensing that the lights would flash at any moment, David took the opportunity to speak honestly to his future in-laws. 

“Mr. and Mrs. Brewer, can I just -” he took a sip of liquid courage and carefully placed it on the floor in front of him. “I um...I don’t know how much, if anything, Patrick has told you about my dating history.” 

He paused and they looked briefly at each other before looking back at him. 

“Ok, um. I’ve dated _ a lot _ of people and...none of them have been as kind and sweet and well, as perfect as Patrick is. So, um, I just want to thank you. He’s the best thing that ever happened to me. I don’t know what I’d do without him.” 

Marcy tilted her head and sighed. 

Clint reached across his wife and rested his hand on David’s arm. “We should be thanking you, David. You make our son glow. I’ve never seen the kid so happy.” 

David inhaled deeply, forcing himself not to tear up. “I promise I’ll always try to make him happy.” 

Marcy leaned over and kissed his cheek just as the lights dimmed, signaling the second act was about to begin. 

“We love you, David. You’re our son too, now. And we’ll always be here for both of you,” she whispered in his ear and sat back in her seat, directing her full attention to the stage. 

With the house lights completely out, David took the opportunity to wipe his eyes on his sleeve. Patrick thought for a quick second that he saw David crying in the audience and he hoped with all of his heart that it had nothing to do with the opening dance number – a kickline that quickly transitioned into a goosestep. 

A hard pang of guilt shot him in the chest. They hadn’t actually discussed how David felt about _ Cabaret _ and he hoped that watching the show didn’t cause pain to his half-Jewish almost-husband. He was distracted enough to miss one step near the end of the routine but he gathered himself together and completed it. Knowing the next time he was on stage, he’d be dancing with Twyla in the damned gorilla suit, he knew he had to talk to David about it as soon as possible, or the worry would consume him completely. 

Patrick exhaled and shook his arms out by his side, waiting for the cue for his curtain call. He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted excitedly for Stevie as she took center stage and bowed. She turned to him and held out her hand. With a hop in his step he jogged out and took in the crowd of people standing up for him and his castmates, cheering. He bowed twice by himself and clasped hands with Stevie and Alexis for a cast bow before they all motioned towards the orchestra pit. He heard his mom’s distinctive whistle again and waved at his family before exiting the stage with his everyone else. 

“One more show!” Marco offered his hand for a high five and Patrick accepted, then pulled him in for a hug. “One more show and I am getting _ wasted _ at the cast party tomorrow.” 

“I’ll be right there with you!” Patrick laughed and clapped him on the back. 

He rushed to strip off his costume and put it in the “To Wash” pile for Jocelyn. He quickly wiped his makeup off with sensitive skin baby wipes and ran his fingers through his hair. He said a quick goodbye and grabbed his bag before rushing out the side door, directly into David’s waiting arms. 

“Amazing! Amazing show, Baby!” David squealed, enthusiastically wrapping his arms around Patrick’s neck. 

“Are you ok? Were you like...crying?” Patrick asked him and held him tight against his chest. 

“What? When? No -” David replied and kissed him. 

“Outta the way, David!” Clint said good-naturedly. He pulled Patrick out of that embrace and into one of his own. “Absolutely outstanding, Paddy. I’m so proud. Great, great show.” 

“Thanks Dad!” 

Marcy stood nearby, a smirk on her lips, patiently waiting her turn. 

“What did you think, Mom?” Patrick asked. 

“Just wonderful, honey. You were wonderful.” She kissed his cheek and slipped her hand into his elbow. 

“So, I need to shower before I start dinner. Are you going to come back with us now?” Patrick asked, reaching for David’s hand and interlacing their fingers without looking. 

“How far is it from the motel to your apartment?” Marcy easily leaned her temple against Patrick’s arm. 

“About ten minutes, the way Dad drives,” he joked. 

“Alright so, we’ll just meet you guys there in an hour or so,” Clint said. 

“Really? We have wine and stuff – II could put out some appetizers. I thought -” 

“I want to change and fix my face, Patrick. It’s ok. We’ll be by in a bit,” Marcy kissed his cheek. 

“We’ll get changed and grab some ice cream or a pie on the way over,” Clint added with a declarative nod. 

“Good. That works,” Patrick smiled and kissed his parents’ cheeks. 

David waved as they went their separate ways and he checked that they were out of sight before he pushed Patrick against the car and kissed him hard. He caught Patrick off-guard and nearly left him breathless. 

When they came apart Patrick had a stunned look on his face. 

“What was that for? Not that I’m complaining...” 

“You are the most perfect person on the planet and I love you,” David cupped his cheeks and kissed him again. “And you look so fucking sexy in that costume and guyliner – I’m going to be so sad when this show is over.” 

One side of Patrick’s mouth curled up. He locked his wrists at the small of David back and took a slight step forward, pushing his thigh between David’s legs. Before David knew what was happening, Patrick had him pinned against the car. 

“I could be persuaded to break out the eyeliner on occasion. If you’re really nice to me.” He kissed David’s jaw. 

“I’m always nice to you.” David smirked. 

“No, I mean if you’re _ really _ nice.” Patrick’s voice was a low growl and he sucked on David’s neck. 

“God you smell so good. How do you smell so good when you’ve been on stage sweating for 2 hours?” He moaned. 

Patrick chuckled deep in his throat and moved his mouth down to David’s collarbone. 

“Honey,” David’s voice cracked and he shuddered. Patrick almost instinctively knew how to turn his legs to jelly. 

“Mm?” Patrick nipped at his collarbone. 

“We can’t do this here.” David knew he should wriggle away and get in the car so they could finish what they’d started in the apartment but Patrick was very intent on keeping him exactly where he wanted him. 

“Why is that, David?” Patrick slid his hand down to the front of David pants. David purred and almost forgot what he was saying. He groaned and arched his back in a futile attempt to push Patrick away. 

“I want the bed,” he whined, his voice getting high and reedy. 

“’Kay. You’re right. I can’t take my time with you tonight.” Patrick relented. He stepped back and admired his handiwork. David’s cheeks were flushed, his lips were engorged and kiss-bruised. He was breathing heavy and appeared to be only a few moments away from allowing Patrick to take him right then and there. 

Patrick bit his lower lip with a maddeningly smug look on his face and he gestured for David to step aside. They held hands during the short drive to Patrick’s place. He was obviously excited about what David apparently had planned but he was also excited about dinner. A nugget of information David had given him long before they were dating had recently come to the forefront of his mind and he had a surprise of his own in store. 

Once inside, Patrick shooed David out of the kitchen area and preheated the oven. 

“Why can’t I help?” David pouted, thinking that Patrick didn’t trust him not to screw something up. 

“_ Because _, my love, it’s a surprise. What I’m making is a surprise for you.” 

David practically melted into the sofa cushions. 

_ What did I ever do to deserve this man? _He thought. 

Patrick winked and put himself between the food he was prepping and David’s spying eyes. Once it was done, he put it in the oven. He washed his hands and dried them on his pants. He strolled to David, who was pretending to watch TV. He came up behind the sofa and slid one hand down the front of David’s sweater, dragging his nails through the thick hair on his chest. 

David’s head lolled backward and he kissed Patrick’s mouth. 

“Where were we?” 

“I think you were about to fuck me in the shower,” David offered with a smirk. 

“Oh, is that right?” 

David nodded. “Yup. Pretty sure.” 

Patrick jerked his chin upward, indicating that David should get up off the sofa. They kissed playfully and giggled while pulling each other’s clothes off. Patrick turned the water on while David peeled his boxers down and off. 

The table was set, the sides were ready and the entire kitchen smelled _ incredible. _Freshly showered and dressed in casual lounge-about-the-house clothes, David and Patrick stole glances at each other while they put the final touches on the charcuterie tray. 

Patrick’s parents arrived and they got settled around the table to pick on the tray while Patrick carved the roast that was resting under tin foil. 

“Paddy that smells fantastic,” Clint said, refilling his glass from the bottle of wine on the counter. 

He smiled proudly as he carried the tray to the table and set it in the center. 

“Oh wow! When did you learn to cook like this?” Marcy clasped her hands. “Roasted lamb!” 

“It’s David’s favorite,” Patrick said, serving his parents. 

David sat back in his chair and tilted his head. 

“Tarragon roasted lamb – like they have at Eleven -” 

“Madison Park,” David completed his sentence. Patrick gave him a piece of the roast and it smelled just as good as he remembered from his New York days. “When did I ever tell you about that restaurant?” 

“Oh, a while ago. Before we were dating. When I was just flirting with you a lot,” Patrick said matter-of-a-factly. He served himself and sat at last. 

“When you were...how..._ why _ do you remember my favorite restaurant that I haven’t been to in four years? _ I _almost forgot that restaurant.” 

“Steel trap,” Patrick replied simply, tapping his temple with the handle of his knife. 

The dinner proved to be a complete success. The food was perfect, Marcy declared that if Patrick ever tired of being a store owner, he should try his hand at being a restauranteur. 

“Oh no,” David laughed. “I’ve gained enough weight in the last two and a half years already!” 

The enjoyed each other’s company, drinking wine and even though they each thought they had eaten their fill, they devoured the pineapple upside-down cake Patrick’s parents brought over with them. 

As the night drew to a close, David started to doze off on Patrick’s shoulder. He kissed David’s forehead and put an arm around his shoulder. 

It was a beautiful sight to see and his parents couldn’t have been more pleased. 


	16. David's Birthday Assignation

Just because it was an easy decision didn’t mean David wasn’t terrified. 

Patrick inadvertently planted the seed in his brain when he had his tonsils out and even though they’d discussed it briefly, they both actively avoided bringing it up again. 

It wasn’t until Marcy shipped a few boxes of Patrick’s things that he decided he wanted to revisit the subject. 

It had been a long holiday weekend full of cleaning, painting and unpacking when the movers arrived at their new house with Patrick’s piano. David directed them to the front parlor and he hugged the edge of the room as they maneuvered it into position. Once it was in place, Patrick could barely contain his excitement watching them unveil it; whipping the stained, old, blue quilted moving blankets from his precious instrument. 

David grinned delightedly with his arms crossed as Patrick caressed the piano keys and ran his hand over the wooden housing. He played a few out of tune chords and hummed a song happily to himself. 

“Oh, we’ve got a couple of boxes in the truck, where do you want them?” The burlier of the two men asked. 

“Boxes?” David turned to his husband. He didn’t remember Marcy saying they were sending anything other than the piano. 

Patrick turned and shrugged his shoulders. “Dunno. Sheet music maybe? Stuff from my old room?” 

“Yearbooks and baby pictures?!” David squealed at the prospect of photo albums filled with evidence that Patrick was always as supremely button-faced and adorable as he was now. 

“I mean, maybe?” Patrick shrugged again, pretending to be a little embarrassed. The mover carried in three large boxes neatly sealed with packing tape and labeled in Marcy's steady hand. 

Fragile - trophies/sports memorabilia 

Books/Music/Photos 

Patrick’s room – MISC 

Once the movers left, David tore into the box he deemed the worthiest of his time. It was coincidentally the one most likely to contain pictures of pre-adolescent Patrick that he could coo over. 

Excited to see his old collection of sports stuff, Patrick picked at the packing tape with his fingernail until he was able to peel it back in one, long strip. He laughed, somewhat in awe of his mother’s packing magic. All of his old baseball and hockey awards were individually wrapped in bubble paper. They looked freshly dusted as he unrolled each one from their plastic cocoons. 

He was smiling brightly, remembering fondly his glory days of lettering in two sports. It was a lot of hard work but it helped to shape him into the disciplined individual that he was. His mom included his minimal collection of baseball cards, two dusty old Jays hats, and the most important item: the foul ball he’d caught at his very first major league game. He gripped the ball, turning it in his hand, feeling the familiar texture of the cowhide and the red stitching. He’d always wanted to put it in a display case. Even though it wasn’t autographed, it was still special to him. He was considering where he could display it in the house or the garage when an exclamatory sound leapt out of his husband. 

“Ohmyfuckinggod!” 

David was sorting through a yellowing envelope of pictures. Abandoning his various trophies and awards, Patrick scooted across the floor to kneel beside him. He put his chin on David’s shoulder and they examined the pictures together. 

“You were the _cutest _!” David said. 

Patrick chuckled. “That’s the first time I ever wore a bowtie,” he said, touching his finger to the picture of himself. 

“I’ve never seen these!” David flipped through the stack, oohing and aahing at each picture of Patrick, his parents and the judge who’d officiated over his formal adoption. 

“Mom must have had two sets of prints made. I’m sure these are in an album at their house.” 

“Oh god, remember photo albums? Real, live, tactile books of physical pictures displayed in plastic sleeves?” 

David finished flipping through the photos from the adoption ceremony, then the lunch celebration that followed. He moved on to another envelope of photos while Patrick peeked into the box in front of them. 

The loud, sharp intake of air from Patrick made David jump. He looked over and Patrick was holding an old teddy bear to his lips. His eyes were closed and tears caught in his pale eyelashes. 

“Honey?” David was immediately concerned. He put a hand on Patrick’s thigh and his eyebrows knit together. 

Patrick sniffled and looked down at the bear, which appeared so much smaller than he remembered it. 

“This is Spiderman,” he said to David softly, his voice choked off. The blue ribbon secured at the bear’s neck had come undone, Patrick carefully re-tied the bow. 

David tilted his head, slightly confused. “I don’t remember Tobey Maguire ever dressing up like a bear.” 

Patrick wiped his eye on the back of his hand and chuckled. “Is that the last Spiderman movie you saw? Tobey Maguire was in it?” 

“Not really my genre,” David shrugged. 

“Oh, Honey. Remind me to introduce you to Tom Holland,” Patrick joked. “No, David. This little guy and me go way, way back.” 

David looked from Patrick’s teary face, down to the bear and back up again. He held his hand out, asking for the toy and Patrick looked hesitant to hand him over. 

Stuffed animals never really appealed to David, even as a child. They gathered dust, to which he was devastatingly allergic, and even their most diligent family housekeeper couldn’t quite keep up with it. The short, brown fur of Patrick’s teddy bear felt soothing against his skin. He pictured his husband as a little boy carrying this toy with him everywhere. 

“He’s handsome,” David commented, feeling the worn crushed velvet covering the pads of Spiderman’s feet. “When did you two meet?” David asked offering a flirty wink to make Patrick laugh. 

“I honestly don’t know. He -” Patrick gently pulled him from David’s hands and tucked the bear into the crook of his own neck. “I know I had him before I met my parents. I don’t know if my birth parents gave him to me or maybe someone at the group home? I don’t - there’s no way to know.” 

David’s eyes went over glossy unexpectedly. 

Seeing that David has no idea what to say, Patrick exhaled, regaining control of his emotions. 

“It’s ok, David. It’s an orphan’s lot. We all have to accept that there are some things we’re never going to know about ourselves. What was my first word? When did I start walking? Did I eat my strained peas or did I throw them on the floor? That kind of stuff. And also...” his voice trailed off and he cleared his throat. 

“What is it, honey?” 

“You know how much my family means to me. But like...sometimes I do think about... I’m not...related to them, you know? I don’t look like them, and...I dunno. It’s not important.” Something in his eyes completely belied his words. 

There were things David didn’t know about himself and he highly doubted that either of his parents did, either. In spite of knowing he’d been a pigeon-toed child, he had absolutely no idea when he started walking. He couldn’t venture a guess on his first word and couldn’t picture himself eating strained peas at any point but nothing was impossible. He hadn’t thought about the second part of what Patrick said before. In all the time he’d spent around Patrick’s family, his parents, aunts, uncles and cousins, it never once occurred to him that Patrick didn’t share a single physical resemblance to any of them. He couldn’t identify with that – one only had to see him side by side with his father to know they were undeniably related. He was about to mention that he didn’t know much about himself as a baby but decided against it. He cupped Patrick’s cheek and kissed him. 

“I love you. I’ll always love you,” he said instead. 

“I love you, too.” 

“Your family is the greatest. They support you; they know you. They’d always answer the phone if you called,” he joked. “They um... They chose you.” 

Patrick smiled to himself and threaded his fingers with David’s. “Yeah, they did. They chose me and so did you.” 

“_ You _ chose _ me _. An inexplicable move that continues to boggle my mind.” David grinned. 

“I know you’re kidding but I’d choose you again, again, and again into infinity.” Patrick’s lips pressed into David’s and his free hand found his shoulder. “You are everything I’ve ever wanted and so much more than I deserve, David.” 

Turning his eyes up to the ceiling, David tried to hold the tears back. A wet sob mixed with a laugh and he pressed his forehead to Patrick’s. 

“How did this turn into you saying sweet things to me to make me feel better?” 

Patrick’s lips quirked up on one side. 

“I’m good like that,” he said. 

“You can say that again.” 

Rather than reply sarcastically, Patrick simply kissed David’s forehead. “C’mon, let’s put this stuff away and I’ll call someone to come by this week to tune the piano. What do you want for dinner?” 

David moved to speak, to ask Patrick the question which had been running through his mind for months but something told him that it wasn’t the right time. 

* * *

David cashed out the last two customers of the day while Patrick balanced up on tiptoe at the top of a step stool taking down the red and white Canada Day decorations. 

“So, use the toner twice a day, every day,” David said as he put the purchased products in a cloth tote bag. “And...um...stop touching your face so much. There are like...a public toilet’s worth of germs on your hands at any given moment.” 

The girl’s eyes grew wide and she shoved her hands in her pockets, turning red. She rushed out the door, embarrassed. 

“David, do you have any of that eggplant tapenade left?” The girl’s mother asked, evidently having missed the entire exchange that made her daughter run away. “I wanted to bring some to the Mayor’s barbecue tonight.” 

“Um...Patrick?” 

Patrick lowered himself from the balls of his feet and used one hand on the wall to hold himself steady as he turned. 

“Top shelf of the fridge...on the right. No, the left. Behind the compound butters.” 

As the woman checked the refrigeration unit, David looked up at his husband and they shared a soft smile with each other. 

“Are you guys going to be at the barbecue? I think the whole town was invited!” 

David tried not to scowl or let his facial expression indicate that he’d rather do literally almost anything other than spend the night before his birthday in Roland’s company. Actually, he had asked Patrick to actively keep Roland away from him for a week as part of his birthday gift. Before the customer turned around to see David struggling to maintain a neutral face and find a polite reply, Patrick jumped in. 

“Oh, we were invited but unfortunately, we had other plans,” he hopped off the second to last step of the ladder and sidled in next to David, easily kissing him on the cheek. He slipped his arm around David’s waist and gave him a squeeze. “It’s um, it’s this guy’s birthday tomorrow.” 

David’s body stiffened next to him and Patrick chuckled, knowing he was irritated about the occasion being mentioned. 

“Oh, how nice! Well, happy birthday, David.” She tilted her head and smiled in such a way that David was convinced she was trying to guess how old he was. 

“Sorry we’re closing early today – is there anything else we can get you?” Patrick said sweetly. 

The woman laughed and grabbed two bottles of body milk and a cucumber juice, apologizing for holding them up. She left with a grateful wave and David eagerly locked the door behind her. 

“How do you do that?” He asked, turning back to Patrick. 

“Do what?” Patrick didn’t look up from counting the money in the cash. 

“How do you tell customers to get the fuck out so nicely?” David indicated over his shoulder with his thumb. 

Patrick laughed. “I did _ not _say that.” 

“Yeah, I know but that’s what you meant.” David walked back to the counter and rested his elbows on it. 

“Sure I did, but you can’t let them know that. They’ll never feel welcome here again.” Patrick finished counting the paper money and started running the report from the credit card machine. 

“So...are you going to tell me what you planned for my birthday yet?” David was attempting to flirt and was fully prepared to wheedle an answer out of Patrick but he was not at all prepared for the power of the shy, schoolboy smirk that spread across Patrick’s face. He winked and puckered his lips in an air kiss, a combination of moves in Patrick’s arsenal that never failed to send a jolt right to David’s cock. He took the daily take back into the office to put the money in the safe and to enter the sales total into the official spreadsheet. 

“Ready to go?” Patrick asked as he came back out to the main floor. 

“You’re really not going to tell me?” David tucked one fist into his waist. 

“Don’t you want a surprise for your birthday, Baby?” Patrick flipped the switches, turning off most of the lights in the store. David looked up, as if he wasn’t expecting the lights to actually go out and he missed Patrick turning on the music. 

Recognizing the introduction immediately, a warm, fuzzy feeling flooded his chest. Patrick’s hands were in his pockets and he slowly crossed over to where David was standing. He held out his hand and as soon as David took it, he pulled him into his chest. James Morrison’s voice filled the room and they started to slow dance. 

_I was so lost, didn’t know what to do with myself _   
_I was my own worst enemy _   
_I was lost and know I needed help _

_Then you came along and saw the state I was in _   
_You picked me up, when I was down _   
_Showed me how to live again _

_I say thank you for pulling me through _   
_I’m a lucky man _   
_I didn’t know what life was but now I understand _

David was blushing and struggling not to burst out into tears. 

“I love you, David. My husband. My almost birthday-boy,” he said softly and kissed David’s mouth. “I am yours forever and ever.” 

A sound halfway between a sob and a laugh exploded out of David’s throat. 

“I asked you to marry me because I couldn’t picture my life without you in it.” 

“And do you regret it yet?” David asked, toying with the short hair at the back of Patrick’s head. 

“I will _ never _ regret anything about anything since we met. Not one single thing. It’s all lead us here.” 

“Patrick -” 

He cut David off with a deep kiss, his fingertips pressing into the long, lean muscles of his back. A soft, gentle sigh escaped David’s lips when Patrick pulled away. 

“I wanna know where we’re going.” 

“It’s your birthday and our dating anniversary tomorrow – let me surprise you, baby.” 

“Does it require clothing?” 

“Some of it, yes.” 

Patrick’s stomach grumbled at the sight of David’s little pout. That bratty pout did things to him. It made him want to cancel all of the plans he’d made and just take David to bed for the next two days. 

And boy, oh boy, did David know that. 

“Stop,” Patrick laughed and looked away. 

“Stop what?” David asked innocently and batted his thick lashes. 

“We’re going to miss our dinner reservation if we don’t leave soon,” Patrick said, stepping away but interlacing their fingers. 

“Ooh -a reservation? He made a reservation?” David squeezed his hand. 

“Yes he did, so we’d better go.” Patrick fished his keys out of his pocket and gently pulled David towards the side door. 

“Are we stopping at home first?” David asked casually, fishing for clues. 

“Yes, just to change clothes. We’re on a schedule,” Patrick tapped his wrist and led David out to the car, where he opened the passenger door for him. David sat in his seat demurely swinging both legs in at the same time. 

“David?” Patrick called out as he rolled up the sleeves of his button-down shirt. “A little faster please.” 

Everything about this quick little getaway was planned out to the minute. He adjusted his collar in the mirror as David stepped out of the ensuite. Patrick caught sight of his reflection. 

“Wow.” Patrick’s hands dropped by his sides as he turned around and smiled. David was wearing the black sweater with the white lightning bolt across the front of it – the same sweater he was wearing on their first date. “Very nice touch, honey.” 

Patrick turned and crossed his arms proudly admiring the beautiful, sexy, perfect man he’d married. 

David shrugged at the compliment and let his lips quirk up on one side. He was worried that Patrick might not notice his wardrobe choice but as his husband’s eyes moved all over his body, he realized that his concerns were baseless. 

Of course, Patrick would remember. Of course he’d recognize the significance of the sweater and of course he’d appreciate it. 

“You’re making this really hard for me, you know.” Patrick approached and cupped David’s cheek. 

“Sorry?” David replied, his head tilting in a question. “What do you mean?” 

“I have this whole plan for dinner and a mini getaway for us but...look at you.” Patrick bit his lower lip before sighing to himself. “C’mon. Dinner.” He playfully tapped David’s cheek with his palm. The suitcase was already in the trunk. Patrick made a show of opening David’s door for him and they rode hand in hand off to the Elmdale Inn. 

As they sat across from each other enjoying a relaxing dinner, David caught Patrick staring. 

“What?” He lowered his fork and self-consciously raised his napkin to his mouth, thinking he had traces of the alfredo sauce from his pasta on his chin. 

“Nothing,” Patrick smiled and tool a bite of his steak. 

David dropped his napkin and sipped his wine. The four gold rings glinted in the low light of the restaurant. 

A few minutes passed before Patrick noticed that David wasn’t eating. 

“Something wrong?” He reached over and warmed David’s hand with his own. 

“Um - I – what were you staring at before? Am I eating too fast? This was so surprisingly good. I would never order something cream-based at the Café, with shrimp in it, no less...” 

Patrick stood up and walked around the table, placing one hand on David’s shoulder and the other on his arm. 

“David, if I was staring, it’s because you’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met – not to mention the hottest guy in the room. I was just sitting here feeling like the luckiest man on planet Earth.” 

David exhaled a sigh. His cheeks flushed with flattery and he kissed Patrick a little more eagerly and forcefully than he ordinarily would have in public. Patrick’s response was so enthusiastic, a table nearby started to chatter rather loudly. 

“Did he just propose?” 

“He’s on one knee!” 

“That’s so sweet!” 

David’s giggling broke the kiss. Patrick tucked his nose into David’s neck and inhaled his scent. 

“We’re already married,” he said to the table of onlookers, quickly flashing his left hand. 

Back in their room, Patrick proceeded to treat David to a memorable birthday. They took a warm bath together drinking champagne and Patrick massaged vanilla scented oil into David’s perfect skin. An hour later, they were flopping back onto the bed covered in matching sheens of sweat, satisfied. Neither man had any intention of moving to either put clothes on or to close the curtains. 

“Happy Birthday to me,” David smiled and stretched his arms over his head. 

Patrick kissed his way up from David’s navel to his neck. 

“We should do this more often. Remember how exciting it was to sneak off into a dark corner before I got my own place?” He toyed with David’s overly sensitive nipple with his tongue. 

“Mm. I certainly do.” 

“As much as I want a dog,” Patrick shifted higher up on the bed. “We wouldn’t be able to take off for a weekend whenever we want to anymore. He nudged David’s chin to the side and kissed the skin behind his ear. 

David frowned, knowing what he wanted – or at least what he wanted to talk to Patrick about – would also cause their lives to drastically change. 

It didn't make him want it any less but he decided to delay the conversation until another night. 


	17. The Bestest Best People

Months later, on the third night of Hanukkah, the conversation re-entered David’s consciousness at an unconventional and somewhat inconvenient time. 

“Yes...fuck...oh my...god...” Patrick whined face down into the mattress. He fisted the sheets in both hands. David’s tongue was working him open, one thumb stuck in his hole. He used his free hand to hold Patrick’s hips up, preventing any friction against the bed. He speared his tongue and dove deep, pulled his head back and spit with a grin of great satisfaction at every grunt and groan he could milk out of his husband’s belly. 

David flicked his tongue around his rim and watched Patrick crane is neck around. His face was wine-drunk and pink; he was slack jawed and panting; wanting more, more. Always more. David was more than happy to give him as much as he could take. Patrick spoiled him rotten and he was sure to give it as good as he got it. 

“I want...I...oh god, David,” Patrick moaned, tightening both his grip on the sheets and on David’s thumb. 

“Tell me. Tell me what you want. I’ll give you anything...” David eased his thumb out, spanked him hard and tongued at Patrick’s open hole before he cautiously pressed three of his long, spit-slick fingers inside him. Patrick let loose a sound that was firmly lodged between the deepest pleasure and a moderate amount of pain. 

“David...mmm...baby..._ damn _ Daddy…” Patrick moaned, arching his neck and leaned back taking David’s fingers in even deeper. Something in his response blended with David’s own state of inebriation and all of the ‘baby’ and ‘daddy' stuff was distracting him from the task at hand. 

Patrick, completely unaware of David’s loss of concentration, started fucking himself on David’s fingers in earnest. 

“Fuck…it’s so good…oh _ god… _gimme another…I need another one,” he groaned. “David? Please – four fingers Daddy – fuck I’m so close…” 

“Huh? Oh.” His own erection had flagged at the thought of midnight diaper changes and toddler meltdowns but Patrick still had no idea. He pulled his fingers free and quickly applied a few drops of lube and a generous squirt to Patrick’s hole. Patrick bucked and gasped at the sudden icy chill of the water-based gel on his most sensitive skin. It heightened his excitement just feeling the lube dripping from his rim and down his balls. 

Trying to get his head back into the game, as it were, David used his thumb to spread the lube all over his fingers. He got up on his knees and yanked Patrick’s ass against his hip. 

“I want you to cum. I want to hear how – how good it feels. You're gonna tell me, right?” Reaching between Patrick’s trembling thighs, David teased the underside of his cock with his lubed fingers. Patrick drew in a deep breath of air before making a growling sound. 

“Make me cum – please..._ now _...” 

“Ooh, greedy boy, aren’t you?” 

“Mm...now...fuck me...” 

David was convinced that hearing Patrick begging would be enough to rouse him from a coma. He breeched him and grabbed hold of Patrick’s shoulder for extra purchase. 

“Oh fuck...yesss...” Patrick hissed. 

David scissored his fingers apart as best as he could but it was a very tight squeeze. Patrick’s muscles accepted his intrusion and he clenched up, only for David to force him open again. David twisted his wrist back and forth making the intensity of Patrick’s moaning grow quickly. A few strokes of his middle finger against Patrick swollen prostate came to a passionate crescendo and he shot a load with one final grunt. Using one hand to firmly stroke Patrick through a second orgasm punctuated by a strangled cry, David kept his fingers in place. 

Feeling Patrick ready to fall on the bed completely boneless, he eased his fingers out of his husband and kissed his sweaty shoulder blade before padding to the washroom for a warm wet cloth. Upon his return, Patrick had pulled the sheets up to his chest and smiled at him. 

“What’s up?” He put one hand behind his head and cleared his throat when David sat on the bed next to him. 

“What?” David asked, lifting the sheets, offering to clean Patrick up. Patrick rolled back to his stomach. The sheets were a mess but he did love David’s gentle aftercare of his body. 

“Ok. Let’s play this game tonight,” he said with a sweet chuckle in his voice. He lifted his hips and sighed softly feeling the cloth between his cheeks. 

“Game?” David asked without looking up. 

“The game where you pretend nothing’s weighing on your mind when something very clearly is. That game.” 

“It’s nothing,” David said, tossing the cloth into the nearby clothes hamper. 

“Mm-hmm. Well, you might want to tell that to your face,” Patrick teased him as David got into bed beside him. 

“Fine,” David said and rolled his eyes a little. “You want to have a baby.” 

Patrick’s eyes grew wide and his lips parted. “I...what? Where is this coming from?” 

“When you had your wisdom teeth out -” David began. 

“_ David _ – we already talked about this. I was high off my tits.” 

“I know but...you would like to have a kid, right?” David rested his head on the heel of his hand. Patrick was not only surprised by the conversation coming up at all but also by how incredibly calm David was while they had it. 

“I..._ you _ don’t like kids. I’ve _ specifically _ heard you say you hate babies.” 

“Never mind what I like or don’t like, Patrick. What do _ you _ want?” David flicked his wrist dismissively. 

“I want _ you,” _ Patrick cupped David’s cheek. “If you think you’ve changed your mind about kids, we can talk about it but please believe me when I tell you _ again _ that I love my life and I love being married to you. I’m content.” 

David pursed his lips, clearly unconvinced. 

“I believe you,” he said. “Only - I’ve been thinking about it. About us having a kid...or two kids...I don’t know. I don’t completely _ hate _ the idea and that’s -” 

“Babe, you’d need to do a lot more than not _ hate _ the idea before we committed to raising another human being,” Patrick leaned in and kissed him. 

“Well, ok – yes, fine. Only – I want you to be related to someone.” 

“Huh?” Patrick scrunched his eyebrows together in such an adorably confused expression David nearly forgot what they were talking about. 

“You said that you aren’t related to your family.” 

Patrick leaned up on both elbows. “When did I say that?” 

“The day the piano was delivered.” 

Remembering vaguely, Patrick laughed. “David that was _ ages _ ago.” 

“I know but, it’s stuck in my brain. You looked so sad and sincere. You give me everything I want. I want you to have absolutely ev-” 

He couldn’t finish speaking because Patrick yanked him into his chest. He pushed his tongue past David’s teeth and hooked one of his legs up over his hip to get their bodies as close together as possible. He dug his fingertips into the fleshy part of David’s bare ass and moaned into his mouth. 

When the kiss ended, Patrick wiped a tear away with his thumb and pressed their foreheads together. 

“I have never loved you more than I do right this minute,” he whispered. 

“I won’t have a clue what I’m doing but if we’re together...” David’s words trailed off unfinished. 

“We’re always going to be together. This is a bigger conversation than we should have right now,” he chuckled and indicated his chin towards the two empty glasses of wine on the nightstand. “But we need to have it. If you’re serious, there is nobody in this universe I’d rather raise a kid with.” 

“Then let’s do it.” 

Patrick pursed his lips. “A lot is going to change for us if we have kids. Are you sure?” 

David kissed him and nodded. Patrick looked away for a troubling amount of time. 

“What? What is it?” David asked. 

“Kind of want to adopt. Give some other kid like me a home. What do you think?” 

David nodded. “We’ll talk about all of it. Tomorrow, ok? Over brunch?” David asked. “With sober heads?” 

Patrick grinned. “A sober brunch? That means no mimosas for you...” 

“Before brunch, then,” David conceded. “It’ll be a celebratory brunch. After we’ve made the biggest decision we’ve ever made.” 

“You sound like you’ve already made up your mind.” 

“Oh, I have. But I’m going to let you try talking me out of it anyway.” 

Patrick kissed him again and rolled to his opposite side so David could wrap him up in his arms. 

* * *

“Patrick?” David rubbed the sleep out of his eyes as he walked into the living room, the glow from the TV illuminated the dark room. 

Patrick turned towards his voice and held his forefinger up to his lips in a ‘shh’. David nodded to acknowledge him. He approached and sat next to him, careful not to disturb Katie, sleeping soundly in a grey and white chevron onesie on Patrick’s chest. 

“How long have you been up?” He whispered and kissed Patrick’s temple. 

“About an hour. She was soaked, I had to give her a bath and I _ just _ got her back to sleep.” 

“Why didn’t you wake me up? I would have helped you.” David yawned, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. 

“I got it, no problem.” 

Patrick shifted a little bit and raised his arm, inviting David to cuddle with them. 

“God, she’s so beautiful,” David said. He sighed and rubbed her back gently. “She looks just like you.” 

Patrick’s chest swelled with pride. Since they used a donor egg, they would never know what Katie’s biological mother looked like but the baby had many of Patrick’s features; his fair skin, light eyes and no eyebrows. As her hair filled in, it was clear she’d also inherited his wild auburn curls. 

“What’s this you’re watching?” David asked. 

“Oh, it’s just um, it’s Monty Python. You can change it.” 

“Is it? I haven’t seen this in such a long time!” He rested his bare feet on the coffee table. 

“You like this?” Patrick raised an eyebrow in disbelief. 

“Who doesn’t like this?” David asked seriously. “If you _ have _ to watch sketch comedy, this is the only correct option.” 

“You continue to surprise me, David.” Patrick smiled. “This is the special they did at the Hollywood Bowl.” 

“Yeah, my parents were there...somewhere...” David sat back and waved his fingers at the screen in a flourish. “I think my mother and Michael Palin had a ‘thing’ before she met my father, but I never asked too many questions. Ew.” 

Patrick had to cover his mouth to stifle himself. 

The TV loudly announced the beginning of the Colin ‘Bomber’ Harris sketch. Graham Chapman walked on stage in a tight, red singlet. The proceeded to wrestle himself, flinging his lean, athletic body around the stage. 

“My _ god...” _David groaned. 

“Mm-hmm. I know.” 

“He was so young...and hot...holy shit.” 

David cuddled into Patrick’s shoulder and they quietly chuckled at the show until he realized the Patrick was asleep. He kissed his husband and their daughter’s foreheads and pulled a blanket over them. He knew Patrick was anxious about their plans for the following day and it was a relief that he’d gotten back to sleep. 

“Dad?” Jason was standing at the top of the stairs. 

“Yeah - down here,” David whispered. He met the boy at the stairs. 

“Whas goin’ on?” The seven year old rubbed the sleep from his eyes. 

“Nothing. Katie woke up. Daddy and I were watching a little TV until she went back to sleep.” 

“Katie cries a lot,” Jason said chewing the inside of his cheek. David chuckled. 

“Baby sisters do that. Your Aunt Alexis had colic and – let's just say I lost _ a lot _ of beauty sleep when I was little.” 

“You’re funny, Dad.” Jason said, wrapping his arms around David’s leg. He rubbed the boy’s back as he returned the hug. 

“Did you have a bad dream or something? What’s up?” David asked, crouching down. 

“I got up to go to the bathroom and you weren’t in your room. I thought you went somewhere without me.” 

The words were enough to break David in half. It had been a long, _ long _ road getting Jason to trust them and know he was home to stay. He didn’t want to think about the things he’d seen and experienced before being placed with them. 

“We would _ never _,” David cupped his son’s cheek. “Never, ever.” 

Jason smiled at him, the space left by the tooth he’d lost the previous Sunday at the park would soon fill in with an adult tooth and bring him one step closer to being grown up – a prospect that David refused to even contemplate. 

“Kin I watch TV with you?” He asked. David smiled and held out his hand. He led his son over to the sofa and sat down next to Patrick. Jason rested his head on David’s leg and was asleep again in minutes. 

David looked back and forth between his two perfect children and his perfect husband. He was so overcome with emotion – mostly joy with a tinge of fear over the possibility that he was screwing up royally. 

He remembered the day they brought Jason home. Everything came so naturally to Patrick. David was the one who was a nervous wreck. 

“Here’s your room,” Patrick said placing the small boy’s feet on the floor. His dark eyes widened seeing the huge bed and all the new toys. 

“Mine?” He’d asked quietly, as if everything might disappear if he spoke too loudly. 

“All yours, buddy.” Patrick bopped him on the nose with his index finger. 

Jason kicked off his tennis shoes, ran up and climbed on his bed. He tested the mattress and jumped up and down on it. 

“Careful!” David yelped. Jason startled and stopped jumping right away. He sat on the bed, looking afraid. 

“I sowwy,” he said. 

David approached and sat next to him. “I just don’t want you to get hurt, that’s all. I’m sorry I yelled. You’re not in trouble.” 

The four-year-old nodded and wrapped his arms around David’s neck. Patrick leaned against the doorjamb. 

“Do you like your room?” David asked. “We can paint it a different color, if you want.” 

“I live here?” Jason stood up on his bed again and played with David’s hair absentmindedly as he looked around. It was a question he’d repeat a lot in the coming months – as if he was always unsure as to what their answer would be. 

“Yup. You live here now, Jason.” Patrick sat on the floor, leaning against the wall. He’d been quieter than David expected he’d be all day. 

“I like here.” He flopped down on the bed and spread his arms and legs out as if he were making a snow angel out of his white bedspread covered in dinosaurs in different shades of blues and greens. 

“Hungry?” David asked him. Jason sat up at the mention of food and nodded. 

“Your Gramma and Pop will be here to meet you soon, Jace,” Patrick said, clearing his throat. Their names were unfamiliar to him at that point but he still seemed excited to meet new people. 

When Marcy and Clint arrived a few hours later, Jason was in his room playing some make-believe game involving his new collection of stuffed animals. David greeted his in-laws in the driveway and helped unload the trunk which was filled to a comical capacity with gift bags. 

“How’s he doing?” Marcy asked, giving David a hug. 

“Adjusting, I think. Patrick’s in there with him now.” Clint shook David’s hand and patted his cheek. 

“This is bringing back so many memories,” he said. “Seems like yesterday that we were where you are. You ok?” 

“I’m a f -” David censored himself and started again. “I’m a nervous wreck. Patrick’s - really quiet.” 

Marcy and Clint looked at each other and nodded. They carried the gifts into the house, calling for Patrick as they walked in. 

Patrick appeared at the top of the stairs, carrying Jason on his hip. Marcy took a sharp breath and covered her mouth, masking all of the emotions she felt seeing her son with his own child. 

“Is that Jason?” She asked. “This big boy is Jason?” She put her purse down and knelt on the living room rug. Patrick descended the stairs and put Jason down a few feet away from his mom. The little boy approached her tentatively. 

“Hi,” he said with a tiny wave. 

She winked at him and he giggled. Clint knelt next to her. 

“Want to know a secret?” He asked the boy. Jason nodded. 

“All those bags back there,” he gestured over his shoulder with his thumb. “Those are presents and they’re all yours.” 

“_ What?!” _

The new grandparents laughed in unison. 

“Thank you!” Jason said. He opened his arms but stopped short of hugging either of them. 

“I’d _ love _ a hug,” Marcy said sweetly. Jason giggled and hugged them both. Marcy rubbed the back of his head. “Gramma loves you already, Jason. You’re the most special little boy in the whole world.” 

They watched Jason tear into his presents while they drank two bottles of wine and laughed at each of his gigantic reactions. 

“Deja vu all over again, huh Marce?” Clint asked, looking up from his camera. 

“Big time,” she replied and smiled into her wine glass. Clint crouched in front of Jason and took some pictures, careful to capture his wife, son and son-in-law in the background. Just when he’d begun to think he couldn’t possibly be happier in life; this new little boy came and uncovered a whole new part of his heart that flooded with love immediately. 

Before David knew it, Patrick was kissing him awake. Jason was sitting at the kitchen table, swinging his feet under the table, eating a bowl of cereal and humming to himself. Katie was strapped into her highchair squishing a ripe banana in one hand and feeding herself scrambled eggs with the other. 

“Coffee?” Patrick asked. “We’ve gotta leave soon.” 

Katie fell asleep in her car seat cuddling her new cloth doll and Jason was watching cartoons on his iPad with his headphones on during the drive. Patrick was distracted, trying to concentrate on the road while David read out the instructions that Google was giving them. They pulled into the lot and saw The Brewer’s car already there. 

He slowed down and waved to his parents. 

“We’ll follow you in,” Clint called out. 

Patrick proceeded to pull in front of his dad. 

The cemetery gates were open wide. It was a perfect autumn day, the air smelled fresh and clean. Leaves were starting to change color. It was a day designed for apple cider and walking through a corn maze. Patrick counted the section numbers upward in his head, having memorized the location code he’d been given when he’d called the church. 

“86. This is it.” He pulled to a stop and shifted into park. His hand was shaking until David interlocked their fingers. 

“Do you want to go alone?” David asked. 

“No. Please come with me. I need you guys.” He sniffled and wiped his eye on his scarf. 

They got out of the car and Patrick took the bouquet of flowers out of the trunk. Marcy kissed his cheek and carefully took Katie out of her seat. The baby whimpered, but when she smelled her grandmother’s perfume, she settled against her shoulder. 

“Jace, c’mere! Come see Pop!” Clint playfully poked him in the stomach. Jason laughed and unbuckled himself. Clint pretended not to be able to lift the boy off the ground. 

“Patrick - the heck’ve you been feeding this kid? Rocks?” Jason laughed again and took his grandfather’s hand. 

His family followed Patrick down a few rows of headstones, doubling back a couple of times when he walked too far. A light-colored stone clearly labeled “Carver” caught his eye. He gasped and let out a stuttered breath, dropping to his knees and trying to hold the tears back. 

“Here you are,” he said quietly. He made a fist before touching his fingertips to the engraved names ‘James’ and ‘Elizabeth’. 

David gulped in air and sniffled. Marcy saw him start to fall apart and she quickly handed Katie over to Clint. She rushed to David’s side and slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow. 

“This is not about me – this is for Patrick,” David said through tears. 

“Shh...it’s ok, Sweet Boy. It’s ok,” she pulled him in and hugged him tighter than he thought he’d ever been hugged before. 

“Um, hi,” Patrick said, placing the bouquet on the stone. He couldn’t have known how emotional he’d be. In theory it seemed silly – he didn’t really know these people. James and Elizabeth Carver weren’t his parents, not really. 

Clint felt his own eyes burn. 

“What’s goin on, Pop?” Jason squeezed his hand. He didn’t like seeing anybody upset, it gave him a stomachache. Clint ruffled his hair and kissed the top of his head. "Why's Daddy cryin'?" Clint walked him, away a few paces and tried to explain it in a way Jason could understand.

“I just wanted to come see you guys and say hi. I’m - um – I'm sorry for what happened to you. But I’m doing great. I have the greatest family; the greatest husband. I’m here with Jason, my son and my daughter Catherine, um Katie, um – so I guess that makes you grandparents,” he lost his composure and covered his eyes with his hands. He didn't anticipate getting emotional but he couldn't fight it.

David pulled away from Marcy and knelt next to Patrick, putting an arm around his shoulders and kissing his temple. He pulled a picture from his inner coat pocket and ran his thumb over it. The family of four were gathered around Patrick's most recent birthday cake. The kids were both sitting in Patrick's lap. Katie had frosting on her nose and Jason's cone-shaped party hat was askew on his head. Clint had taken the photo just as David had leaned in and kissed Patrick on the cheek. It was one of his favorite pictures in the world. He tucked it very carefully between two of the yellow roses in the bouquet.

“We wouldn’t have the most magnificent son without you,” Marcy said softly. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am. I hope we’ve taken care of him the way you would have.” She squeezed Patrick’s shoulder and pulled two small stones out of her pocket. David watched her place them on the gravestone next to the flowers. He found the four white stones he’d picked up the last time they’d gone hiking up to Rattlesnake Point and lined three of them up next to Marcy and Clint’s. The prayer he’d asked his father to teach him flowed quietly out of his mouth as tears fell down his cheeks.

_ "El _ _ maley _ _ rakhamim _ _ shokhen _ _ ba-m'romim _ _ ha- _ _ m'tzei _ _ m'nukhah _ _ n'khonah _ _ takhat _ _ kanfei _ _ ha- _ _ sh'khinah _ _ b'ma'alot _ _ k'doshim _ _ u't'horim _ _ k'zohar _ _ ha- _ _ rakiah _ _ maz'hirim _ _ l'nishmot _ _ yakireinu _ _ u'k'dosheinu _ _ she- _ _ hal'khu _ _ l'olamam _ _ . Ana _ _ ba'al _ _ ha- _ _ rakhamim _ _ ha- _ _ s'tirem _ _ b'tzel _ _ k'nafekha _ _ l'olamim _ _ u- _ _ tz'ror _ _ bitz'ror _ _ ha- _ _ khayim _ _ et _ _ nishmatam _ _ . Adonay hu _ _ nakhalatam _ _ v'yanukhu _ _ b'shalom _ _ al _ _ mish'kabam _ _ v'nomar _ _ amen." _

_ “Amen,” _Marcy, Clint and Jason repeated. 

“Thank you. Thank you for everything. I um, I love you guys.” Patrick sniffled and got up from his knees, brushing the grass from his jeans. He raised he eyes and looked around. It was quiet and peaceful. The landscaping was pristine, no grave appeared to be neglected or forgotten by time. They were in the shade of a maple tree, under which was a stone bench. His cheeks puffed out as he exhaled and he hugged David tight. 

“I love you,” David said kissing his cheek. 

“I love you too. I needed to do this. Thank you, David.” He touched their lips together. 

“Jace, c’mere.” David waved Jason over. He put the remaining white stone in the boy’s hand. “Just like I showed you, ok?” 

Jason nodded solemnly and kissed his stone before placing it with the others. 

“Thanks for my Daddy. He’s the best Daddy,” he said simply. “Oh, Dad is too. And Gramma. And Pop. And my baby sister Katie. They’re the best people.” 

The pure sweetness of the boys’ words made Patrick laugh. He scooped Jason off his feet and balanced him on his hip. 

“We are the best people, huh?” He asked, blowing a raspberry on his son’s cheek. 

“Ayup!” Jason giggled. “The _ bestest _ best.” 

After a pause, he pulled on the Patrick’s jacket to get his attention. “Daddy?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Can we go apple pickin’ now? I wanna climb a tree and get Katie a apple.” 

“Let’s do it.” 

As soon as they reached the patch of apple trees, Jason took off running down the rows, looking for _ the _ perfect tree. They hadn’t been to this particular orchard before but Jason had named himself the judge of which apples were perfect and his standards were exacting. Patrick had Katie strapped into the chest carrier. Marcy and Clint walked ahead, keeping an eye on their grandson. 

“You ok?” David asked Patrick, holding a handful of Cheerios out to her. She grabbed them eagerly and bobbled her head while she ate them making happy little grunting noises. 

“Better than ok. We’re so lucky, David. We really are. I count my blessings every damn day.” 

“So do I,” David agreed. “One,” he kissed Patrick. “Two,” he kissed Katie’s forehead. “Number three is probably halfway up a tree by now and I hope to god I don’t see it because I’ll have a panic attack.” 

Katie sneezed. David quickly pulled a tissue out of the baby bag on his shoulder and wiped her nose even though she cried in protest and tried to wiggle away. 

Patrick laughed. “You turned out to be pretty good at this Dad stuff.” 

“That’s possibly the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” David blushed. 

The three Rose-Brewers went in search of the rest of the group, hand in hand. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I'm touched by the outpouring of love I've received for this fic. I knew where I wanted this chapter to go and just haven't been in the right headspace for it.
> 
> If there's someone you love and you haven't told them recently (or at all), tell them.


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